


there is so much space between us (maybe we're already defeated)

by Snickerdoodles143



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute Teddy Lupin, Dimension Travel, Dorne, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic, Old Gods, Rare Pairings, Wolves, Worldbuilding, sansa stark/happiness - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickerdoodles143/pseuds/Snickerdoodles143
Summary: The spinning lasted a few hours or a few moments and when it stopped and she opened her eyes, Hermione was surrounded by knee deep snow. Teddy was still clinging to her neck.She looked up from the snow and spotted a dozen men on horses, with swords strapped to their waists and what looked like puppies in a few of their arms. She stared at them as they stared back at her.“Well, fuck,” she said.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Harry Potter/Robb Stark, Hermione Granger & Oberyn Martell, Hermione Granger/Jon Snow
Comments: 210
Kudos: 714





	1. I

The too-small, direwolf pup inside his jerkin has barely twitched his nose into the exposed wool of Jon’s undershirt for the first time when his new master’s life fell apart.

The Wolfswood was unusually entirely silent. Save for the clop-clop of their horses’ hooves and the wind whistling through the bare tree branches, their party was hushed. Not even Theon- usually irreverent and loud- seemed interested in making conversation as the deserter’s words spun through their minds.

White walkers were usually thought of in the same vein as grumpkins, giants and dragons. “ _But dragons were real,”_ Jon’s traitorous mind reminded him.

Jon was lost in his thoughts, as were the rest of their party, when suddenly, a flash of white-yellow-bright light struck the ground ahead of them. Their horses rear back and many of the guards drop down from their saddles, their hands on their pommels.

Everyone’s shoulders tensed, and Jon edged himself in front of Bran’s horse. The light looked like a lightning storm, but instead of striking the ground and dissipating it continued to funnel into the same spot, blackening the earth around it.

The light continued to build and then suddenly stopped, sinking into the ground and making the earth glow faintly. In place of the light stood a young woman- about Jon’s age- and a little boy.

XXX

Her morning started casually enough- at least until Harry had shown up Teddy in tow. That at least was par for course. Most things in her life started to go awry only after Harry showed up.

The little metamorphmagus had squealed excitedly, changing his locks to match Hermione’s own dark honey curls, and jumped into her open arms.

“Aunt Mione!” the four-year old was getting heavier and Hermione mourned the day she couldn’t carry him anymore.

“Hullo Mr. Lupin. How are we today?” she asked as she stroked his curls and pulled him in for a quick smooch on the cheek. The question was posed to Teddy, but Harry knew her well enough to know it was meant for him.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up more, before saying, “I’ve been called in. Something was filed wrong and I can’t take him in. McDaniel’s will lose his bloody mind.”

Hermione grimaced. Teddy crowed, “I’m telling Aunt Ginny you said ‘bloody’!”

Harry reached into his jeans to pull out a knut and pressed it into the little boy’s sticky palm. Teddy, a smug grin on his face, pocketed the knut and went back to his excited perusal of the braid he was trying to wrangle Hermione’s hair into.

The adults (if you could call two nineteen-year-old war-veterans such a thing) looked at each other an understanding passing between them.

Teddy was a well-behaved child, especially for a toddler. He did, however, have some … unusual magical talents that made it difficult for others to understand- or tolerate- him.

Being a metamorphmagus was exciting. Most thought of it as a fun party trick. Teddy’s other little talent was less exciting for those he used it on. The last time he went with Harry to work, he’d managed to out two corrupt officials and expose Harry’s supervisor’s affair to his wife.

The little boy was a human lie detector. He was also too young to understand the art of discretion.

At first, Hermione and Harry had thought the trait was a Black family trait. Their family magic was older and such magic tended to settle heavily on its last heirs (disinherited or not). When Sirius and Harry’s parents had used blood magic to seal their godparent bond, Harry’s offensive magic had become much stronger once it entwined and settled properly with the Potter magic.

_(And wasn’t that an interesting conversation to have with Dumbledore’s portrait. How could Sirius have betrayed Harry’s parents as his blood magic godfather without losing his own magic in the process?)_

Hermione had practically devoured the Black Library once they’d opened the Black Manor and discovered the auditorium sized library. But no amount of reading or _eskane_ spells to look through the thousands of books came up with answers.

So, she’d turned to the Tonks family tree. It only took her going back thirteen generations, but she’d eventually found a small branch of the Aramaic Tonks that had moved through the Gambian Rivers, before being captured and forced into slavery in Haiti. There, the Tonks had worshipped the deity _Iwa_ who according to legend blessed their line with saint-like powers. That power had been passed down through the generations- becoming stronger through each iteration- until it reached Teddy.

Knowing where his magical power came from didn’t help control it though. The little boy would have to learn that himself as he grew older. But Hermione could understand why Harry wouldn’t want to take Teddy in.

She sighed and set Teddy down. “Of course, I’ll watch him. I was going to pop over to Charlie’s reserve to see how his new Vipertooth is doing,” she said as she fastened the front of her cloak together, cursing when the links wouldn’t match up.

Harry stepped forward and batted her hands away to fix them together himself. “Take the cloak with you,” he said frowning.

Hermione looked up at him, her face twisting into a frown to match his.

“Why?”

“Something feels off about the magic at the Ministry lately. I don’t know what it is, but I need you two to stay safe.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead before stepping back and kneeling to give Teddy a hug. Hermione wanted to argue that they’d be safer at the dragon reserve with Charlie than he would be at the Ministry but knew he wouldn’t listen.

Instead she pursed her lips and grabbed her beaded purse. She stuffed his cloak into the bag, rougher than she had to. It was still her catchall bag and if Harry’s senses were right, the bag would have everything they needed (including half of the Black fortune- they knew better than to trust the wizarding world; they were always ready to run).

The boys were doing their secret handshake as Harry wrangled a promise to be good out of Teddy. Something settled in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. This felt too much like a goodbye for her tastes.

She tried to shake those thoughts out of her mind, before kneeling too. “Alright Teddo. We’re going to apparate so you’ll be piggyback. Is that alright?” The little boy nodded and reached his arms around her neck. She winced when he tugged too hard on her hair, but she braced herself on Harry’s shoulders and stood up anyway.

Harry leaned in for another hug, and she felt another wave of foreboding wash over her. She didn’t understand what was happening, but couldn’t ask with Teddy with her, so she resigned herself to asking later that day when he came to pick Teddy up. “I love you both,” Harry whispered before stepping back.”

“Love you Uncle Harry!” Teddy thrilled back.

Hermione started to say, “Love yo-“ when Harry muttered something under his breath and a bright green light hit her. Her eyes widened in shock before the world began to spin sideways like she was apparating and in a bright flash her flat disappeared and her eyes closed of their own accord. All she could do is clutch Teddy’s legs tightly and hope his grip was solid enough.

The spinning lasted a few hours or a few moments and when it stopped and she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by knee deep snow. Teddy was still clinging to her neck. 

She looked up from the snow and spotted a dozen men on horses, with swords strapped to their waists and what looked like puppies in a few of their arms. She stared at them as they stared back at her.

“Well, fuck,” she said.

XXX

Jon saw the other men startle, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the woman cursing or because of the way she was dressed. She had a little boy clinging to her back and Jon was ashamed to say he hadn’t noticed the boy at first glance, too distracted by the tight black trousers clinging to the girl’s legs, and her bright red and gold jersey- Lannister colors!

The little boy seemed thrilled though as he tugged gently on the girl’s hair. “Aunt Mione, Uncle Harry said that’s a galleon bad word!”

The woman, despite the dozen men facing her, was calm. She turned her head towards the little boy without taking her eyes off his father, who had urged his horse forward a little after the bright light had subsided. “When we find your Uncle, a galleon will be the last thing on his mind, Teddy.”

Her accent was odd. It wasn’t Northern, but it was sharper than a Southern accent as well. Her skin was tanned enough that she could be from Dorne, but he doubted a Dornish woman would be caught in Lannister colors.

The little boy- _what kind of name was Teddy?-_ pouted but stayed quiet.

His father seemed to be at the end of his considerable patience. He spoke up, “My lady, I am Lord Eddard Stark, the lord of these lands.” The woman- Jon assumed her name was My-knee- nodded her head but didn’t say something as Teddy whispered in her ear.

“You’re on my land. Why?” Lord Stark continued.

The little boy was still whispering in her ear as the woman nodded and finally responded, “I don’t really know why we’re here, but you don’t need to worry, we aren’t staying.”

He felt the men around him shift. She had appeared out of nowhere in a burst of light, they weren’t going to just let her leave with no explanation.

His father urged his horse forward a few paces, and Jon watched in shock as the woman took a step back and slid into a fighting stance. The change in the air was immediate. The woman’s eyes turned hard as flint and the air around her seemed to crackle as the boy slid down from her back carefully and tucked himself behind her.

“I’m afraid I must insist on taking you with us to Winterfell, my lady.”

There was an edge of steel in his father’s voice that seemed to indicate to Ser Rodrick that there was danger present. The men all had their hands on their sword hilts, and Theon’s bow was notched at his side.

The woman was still unfazed- no fear in her eyes- as she surveyed them. She didn’t respond.

His father sighed again but seemed to be unwilling to force a woman and child without trying to reason with them first. “My lady, we mean you no harm. You don’t seem to be from around here. Let us help you. These are my sons,” Father pointed at Robb, Bran and then him in succession, “My heir, Robb, and my sons Bran and Jon. On my honor, no harm will come to you if you come peacefully.”

The woman looked unconvinced, but her eyes softened. Teddy tugged on her tunic as if asking her to lean down, but she didn’t. She refused to move her eyes from them.

Teddy, tired of waiting for his aunt’s attention, loudly announced his thoughts instead. “He’s lying Aunty.”

Robb’s face, previously pleasant and interested, drew into a rage at this boy questioning his Lord father’s integrity. Jon and the other guards weren’t as concerned- children said odd things, adults didn’t give them much weight- but they were increasingly restless.

Except the woman did listen to Teddy.

“Which part Ted?” she asked. Her voice was low, but it still echoed through the wooded area. Teddy- _or Ted?-_ tilted his head to the right and considered it for a moment. His eyes roamed over the rank of men before landing on Jon.

“Jon’s not his son.” Teddy’s nose was scrunched up.

Jon wanted to say the insult didn’t bother him, but it still bruised his feelings. Even this little boy could pick out that Jon was just a bastard. He looked over at his father but saw that his face was drawn and pale.

Jon almost asked his father if he was okay. He looked like he was about to collapse, but then three things happened almost simultaneously.

His father waved his men forward and said, “Ser Rodrik, bring them to Winterfell. Avoid harming them.”

The woman dropped her bag and flicked her wrist. A thin stick appeared in her hand while Teddy reached into her bag and pulled out a shimmery cloak.

Jon watched as the boy swirled the cloak around himself and then disappeared. “Seven Hells,” he heard Bran whisper. Jon didn’t admonish his brother, because he was whispering the same thing under his breath repeatedly.

And then the woman pointed the stick at each man in quick succession and a thin red bolt of light left the stick and struck them in the chest. They fell to the ground in quick succession. The only ones remaining were Robb, Theon, Bran, Jon and his father.

Lord Stark looked furious, but wary. Robb looked horrified. Bran was quietly whimpering. Jon knew he should be horrified, but he was in awe.

“I’m not interested in hurting children, but I will if you try to take us by force.” The woman said sharply.

His father was known as the Quiet Wolf. His bannermen told stories of his war prowess and battle skills. Jon had always seen his father as quiet and kind. Never had he seen him in rage like this (except for the time Lady Catelyn had slapped Jon across the face at supper perhaps).

He roared, “You would come onto my land, kill eight of my men and threaten my children?”

The woman shrugged her shoulders delicately. “They’re not dead, but what you would do for your children, I would do for Teddy. Tread carefully.”

Robb had dismounted from his horse and edged towards the closest fallen guard at this point. He slipped his fingers in the man’s jerkin and felt for his pulse. “She’s right. They aren’t dead.”

Lord Stark nodded his head sharply. “If you come with us, no one will harm you. You will be free to leave at any time. I only ask that you answer some questions, but you can refuse that also. I swear on my honor.”

From a seemingly empty spot in the forest, a voice spoke up. “He’s telling the truth!”

She considered his father for a moment.

“We accept.”

In the place where the voice had come from, Teddy’s head- and only his head- became visible.

Theon fainted.


	2. II

The ride back to the Stark’s home was cold- in every sense of the word. The sun was high, but the whistling winds quickly overshadowed its warmth and the glares the other riders were sending Hermione’s way.

After _reenervate-_ ing the guards she’d knocked out and offering them a tight-lipped smile- but not an apology- she’d been forced to admit that she didn’t know how to ride a horse. Lord Stark offered to let Teddy ride with his youngest son and for her to ride with his heir, but Hermione wasn’t planning on letting go of Teddy’s little hand until she was sure they wouldn’t need to _apparate_ away at a moment’s notice.

She found herself on the back of a pony with Teddy clutched tightly to her front that was tied to Lord Stark’s horse. If the whole situation weren’t so ridiculous, she’d be embarrassed by it.

But she had too many questions:

Where the fuck were they? _When_ were they? What spell had Harry hit them with? How slowly would she murder Harry when she found him?

When the Stark’s home came into sight, she had to take several slow deep breaths to calm herself. Their home was a castle, but it wasn’t built in the style of any European castle she’d ever seen. Added to that, the people around her were speaking English- albeit a more old-fashioned and rougher version than her own- so her theory that they’d traveled back in time was starting to lose basis.

Castles in English speaking Europe had never looked like this.

Upon entering the busy courtyard of what Lord Stark had called Winterfell, conversation dimmed down. Whatever they were expecting Lord Stark’s retinue to bring back, it wasn’t a young woman and a child.

Hermione could hear whispers of ‘ _another bastard’_ and ‘ _such tight trousers.’_ She tried to keep her face smooth, but her lips thinned regardless.

Her leggings were comfortable and she’d like to see any of fight in those skirts.

Winterfell’s heir, who’d once again introduced himself as Robb, offered her his hand to help her down from the pony, and she deliberated for a moment before realizing it would be much more embarrassing to try to get herself and Teddy down without some help.

Hermione looked around to gauge their safety while she tried to casually stretch out her sore legs.

“We can speak in my solar, my lady,” Lord Stark spoke before leading her into the castle.

Robb stuck his left arm out to her at a bent angle and she looked at him for a few moments before leaning down to pick Teddy up. She followed Lord Stark into the castle and noted that it was much warmer inside than she had expected for a place with no air conditioning or thermostats.

 _“There must be some internal heating system,”_ she mused to herself.

They finally reached a closed wooden door with two guards standing outside of it. The guards nodded respectfully to Lord Stark but looked at her with unabashed curiosity.

Lord Stark moved to enter the room but stopped for a moment in the doorway to consider her. “Perhaps Teddy would like to tour the keep with my son, Bran?” he offered.

She startled at the offer. Surely the man knew she wouldn’t leave Teddy with a stranger’s son in a stranger’s home. But still, she wasn’t called the Brightest Witch of her Age for no reason.

“If you’re worried that he can tell when you lie, maybe you should tell the truth when we speak,” she shrugged her shoulders delicately, but her eyes were steely.

Lord Stark’s jaw clenched tightly before he nodded and walked inside, allowing her to step inside.

XXX

Winterfell was tense from the moment their riding party returned to the keep. The sight of a young woman and her child riding so close to his Lord Father made many of the smallfolk milling in the area whisper to each other, some not too quietly.

Jon felt his ears burn when he heard one woman tut quietly, ‘ _another bastard?’_

Robb obviously found the woman attractive- his brother was not subtle- and Jon had to admit to himself that he agreed. Her cheekbones were high and her hair was long and untamed in a way he rarely saw on other women of the North. Sansa would find the loose hair scandalous. Her eyes were dark, almost black, even in the sun, and sharp. She was carefully taking in every detail of their surroundings, even while responding to whatever questions the little boy in her arms was asking her.

When Lord Stark began to lead the way to his solar, Robb had offered her his arm to lead her inside, but she’d stared at him blank-faced before leaving him behind without a word. Theon had been chuffed as he went in the opposite direction to his room, no doubt thrilled at her lack of interest towards the heir of Winterfell.

Jon found her dismissal of Robb _gratifying._ But he’d immediately berated himself for the errant thought.

Jon clapped Robb on the back and followed the procession inside, giving his brother a minute to collect himself and remove the sullen look on his face.

When they’d reached Lord Stark’s solar, Jon wondered if their father would send them away, but as the woman settled herself into a plush chair in front of the fire- _without waiting for his father to sit first!-_ Lord Stark had sighed and waved the two boys inside as well.

They closed the door behind them and stood in front of their father’s writing-table as their father settled into his seat.

The moment the door closed, the woman spoke up. “What year is it?” she demanded.

His father furrowed his brow and answered, “297 AC. My lady, what are your names?”

The little boy nodded his head after Lord Stark answered, and the woman immediately went pale. She took a deep stuttering breath and leaned forward to tangle her hands with the boy’s outstretched palms. “My name is Hermione Granger. This is my godson, Teddy.”

The boy- Teddy- turned to wave at them, hands still tangled with his ‘ _godmother’s’_?

“Godmother?” Robb blurted out, confused by the term.

Hermione nodded absently. “Yes, like an aunt, I suppose.” She let go of Teddy’s hands and turned to Lord Stark. “Where are we?”

“The North, Lady Hermione,” Lord Stark stated. When no recognition passed through her eyes, he continued, “In Westeros.” Still no recognition. He tried again, “My lady, you seem far from home?”

She nodded, still pale- a sickly look on her tan skin.

“I offer you assistance in returning home, but I have some questions first.”

She nodded again and Lord Stark took that as permission to continue. Robb couldn’t stop himself and interrupted a second time, “Are you from Asshai? Are you a woodswitch?”

Lord Stark cut Robb off with a stern look and a raised hand, but Lady Hermione finally turned her attention to Jon’s brother. She answered with her steely, almost unsettling gaze firmly on him, “I’m not sure what either of those terms means. I have magic,” at this Robb nodded. They’d seen that firsthand. “I’m not sure if your people have the same kind of magic, though,” she finished thoughtfully. 

“Lady Hermione,” his father said, drawing her attention back to him. “Your nephew questioned my honesty, and you seemed to agree with him. Not many of my people would doubt my integrity.” Jon’s father was using his Lord Stark voice, the one he used on unruly bannermen.

Hermione drew herself together at his tone and straightened her spine. Her eyes cleared and settled on his father. “If Teddy said you were lying, then you were. Frankly, I don’t care if you lied about some guy,” at this, she pointed to Jon, “being your son. I only want to get us home.”

The temperature in the room rose a few degrees at her tone. The air seemed to crackle.

Jon wondered if it would snap.

XXX

Ned thought of himself as a reasonable man. He wanted simple things in life: to love his wife and children, to serve the North, to protect Jon.

He didn’t want to deal with a woman and child appearing in the middle of a burst of light and immediately disrupting a lie decades in the making. She couldn’t go around telling people that his secret- it would undo 18 years of Jon’s safety.

Ned didn’t like threatening women, but this girl was infuriatingly calm for a situation Ned felt was spiraling quickly out of control.

He stood up and braced his hands on his writing-table. “You must see why I can’t allow you to go around spreading a lie about my family.”

The woman- _Hermione, what an odd name-_ snorted. “It’s not a lie, but I feel like I’ve made it clear that I don’t care. We just want to go home.”

“I’m his bastard, Lady Hermione. That may be what you are sensing as a falsehood,” Jon interrupted.

Ned wanted to slam his head into a wall.

Lady Hermione and Teddy could somehow tell when they were lying. Ned didn’t know if that pertained to unintentional lies or not, but he didn’t want to test it.

Ned looked over at Lady Hermione to see if that had changed the woman’s mind any. They couldn’t overpower her or confine them to a room. She’d taken out eight guards in a moment and he did not doubt that she could leave his solar in seconds.

Her shoulders were tight, held back in a way that he saw in other soldiers. No amount of training could beat that posture into his boys; only a battlefield could. His sons were greenboys who’d never seen war, but this woman’s posture revealed that she had seen war and survived.

Lady Hermione slid her gaze over to Teddy, who shook his head quickly.

Ned wondered if he could slam his head into a wall hard enough that he woke up from this nightmare. 

“Listen, Jon, right?” Lady Hermione said, looking over at his nephew. In the seconds it took for Ned to look over from her to Jon, her stick was out, and she’d pointed it at him. She whispered something under her breath and waved her stick in a swirling motion from Ned’s face over to Jon’s. A bright light shot out of the stick and enveloped them before any of them could reach for their swords. They all stared at the light for a few seconds and watched as it faded into pink.

“Okay, see that?” She said, pointing at the light, stick hidden away again, “was a true blood spell. If you were his son, it would have turned red. You share blood, sure, but he isn’t your father.” Lady Hermione looked at each of the three men steadily as if she hadn’t just broken up eighteen years of Ned’s life- as if she hadn’t put their entire family at risk. “Now, do you have a library?”

Robb gaped at her. Jon whipped his head to look at Ned so quickly the boy’s head might have spun off. “Father,” he trailed off, confusion written plainly on his face.

Ned sighed and considered slamming his head into the lit hearth instead of a wall. “Lady Hermione, Robb will show you to the library. Please keep this information to yourself.” Robb moved forward slowly to lead her out, clearly noticing that his father wasn’t denying her claims and wanting to stay. Jon moved forward more quickly, grabbing her wrist to stop her from moving towards the door.

“Wait, stay,” he demanded. Then he dropped Lady Hermione’s wrist as if it burned him. “Forgive me, my lady!” he stuttered remembering himself, “Just,” he paused for a moment, “He cannot lie if you stay.”

Something in Ned’s heart shattered. Jon was Lyanna’s son, true. But Ned had raised him as his own. To look into Jon’s eyes, so much like Lyanna’s, and hear Jon imply that he didn’t trust Ned, tugged at a part of his heart he thought he’d left behind at the Tower of Joy. 

Lady Hermione looked uncomfortable to be involved in their family’s drama. _(Ned found this unfair. She had, after all, been the catalyst to much of this drama.)_ But something in Jon’s eyes must have convinced her to stay.

She sat back down and pulled Teddy into her lap. The little boy immediately resumed playing with her hair, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Uncle Brandon?” Robb asked, trying to put the pieces of what they’d heard together.

Ned wished he could say yes. It was an easy out, but he glanced at Lady Hermione. He turned to Jon and straightened his spine. His nephew deserved to hear the answer from him before anything else went wrong.

“Your mother was Lyanna Stark,” he tried not to let his voice falter. “Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen and you are Jon Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms. I promised your mother that I would protect you-“ at this, his voice stuttered out.

( _Promise me, Ned)_

Jon and Robb turned their heads to look at Teddy, who, in turn, looked at Lady Hermione as if finally sensing the room’s tension and asking permission to answer. At her nod, Teddy turned back to the boys- _raised as brothers, almost twins, but now not_ \- and solemnly nodded his head.

Jon’s body sagged as his knees went out. Robb reached forward to catch him, his face shocked and betrayed as he looked at Ned.

XXX

Catelyn Stark was not having a good day.

She hadn’t wanted Bran to go with his father to see the deserter, but Ned had insisted, and she couldn’t defy him with so many people around. Arya had skipped her lessons with the Septa when she heard that their riding party had come back with _direwolves_ of all things. Those creatures were dangerous beasts, not children’s pets. What was Ned thinking?

She’d been headed to find Ned and ask him that very question when she’d heard the whispers:

Ned’s riding party had come back with eight new additions: six direwolf pups- which was bad enough in her opinion- but also a woman and her child. The washer-women had whispered that the woman was beautiful and that the child had the same pale skin and dark hair that Starks tended too.

 _“Not your Stark children though,”_ a voice whispered in her mind- tremulous, traitorous.

_Was this another of Ned’s bastards? Did he bring his mistress to her home?_

She stalked to his solar to demand answers. She had kept her silence when he brought his first bastard home and shamed her, but she would not stand for this humiliation again.

She was greeted by four guards watching the door- three more than usual. That was an odd sigh; Ned was never so guarded within their keep. But instead of letting that stop her, she raised her chin and reminded herself of her place- she was Lady Catelyn Stark and this was her home.

“Open the door,” she demanded.

The guards shifted uneasily. “Lady Stark,” the youngest of the guards began, before being cut off by the guard next to him.

The oldest guard, Beron, spoke up, “Lord Stark ordered us not to allow anyone inside, Lady Stark.”

Catelyn felt her temper rise. “I am your Lady, and I demand you open that door.”

The guards shifted in place again; one of them looked as if he was sweating through his tunic. “We cannot my Lady.”

If she were younger, she would have stomped her foot.

“I see,” she responded instead of screeching as she wished she could. “I will wait here then.” The guards tried to keep their faces calm, but the idea of her waiting with them- subjecting them to her icy demeanor- made them uncomfortable.

But, if she was going to be locked out of her husband’s meeting with his mistress, she was going to make as many people as possible as miserable as she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i was absolutely not expecting this much support so i went and turned my outline into a chapter sooner than i expected to thank everyone!
> 
> so next chapter you guys are going to see hermione attack a library and then a bunch of people are leaving winterfell. its going to be the start of a LOT of worldbuilding. If Hermione's going to get herself and Teddy home she's going to have to find all the magic in this world and where better to start than essos? I wonder who's in essos right about now?
> 
> Please continue to comment and let me know if theres anything you want to see more/less of OR if you have a pref for where they should head first in planetos!


	3. III

They’d been shown to the library and introduced to the Maester Luwin- whom she’d assumed was some kind of Healer and Archivist from her brief conversation with the man- before being delivered to a room and asked very politely to _please_ inform the guards posted outside their room before going anywhere.

Hermione thought it was kind of cute in a depressing way that the Starks were so eager to keep her here and watched, even though Teddy’s little gift had upended their lives in a matter of minutes. Regardless, she had no plans of disappearing with Teddy, especially given that they clearly not on any Earth that she recognized, and there was a library here for her to find answers in.

She let Teddy slide out of her arms and looked around the room as the door closed behind her. There was a simple but large bed in the center of the room, directly across a lit hearth. There was a writing table, for which she was grateful, and two lounging chairs near the fireplace. She spun in a circle to see if she’d missed anything and when she turned back to Teddy, she found him looking up at her.

“Aunt Mione, where are we?” he asked, his eyes wide and his hair tinging to black the way it did when he was nervous.

For a moment, she wished she could lie to him. Even though Teddy knew better than to call her or Harry out on their lies in public, he would demand the truth if they were in private.

She sighed and kneeled to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know, Ted. But I’m going to get us home and kill your Uncle Harry, I promise, okay?”

He looked her straight in the eyes for a few seconds, and apparently liking whatever he saw, he grinned. “Uncle Harry says nothing can kill him.”

Hermione made a noise in between a grunt and a harrumph. “As if he’d have made it this far without me.”

Teddy climbed onto one of the lounge chairs and leaned over the hand of it as he laughed. She sat in the chair opposite him and let the fire warm them for a moment. Hermione could tell that Teddy was still a little nervous as his hair was mostly black and straight- at a glimpse exactly like Harry’s.

She smacked her hands together and braced herself on her knees, looking straight at Teddy. “Okay, Ted. First, we’re going to get some food. Then, we’re going to find out how to get out of here.”

She held her hand out palm faced upwards and waited while Teddy scrunched his nose at her. He leaned forward, smiling, completely trusting, with a copy of Tonks’ bright eyes _(and Andromeda’s, and Sirius’s, and Bellatrix’s)_ shining at her, and smacked his palm onto hers.

She was Hermione Granger. Given a library, her wits, and her magic, there was no mess she couldn’t work her way out of. She was going to get them home.

XXX

For people that had caused so much drama, Lady Hermione and Teddy were very difficult to find. Winterfell was a large keep, of course, but Robb had the home-grown advantage and a network of guards, servants ,and Arya Underfoot to keep him aware of their movements- and yet.

After she’d seen Jon collapse, wrecked from Father’s lies, Lady Hermione had quietly and firmly asked to be excused, and Father had rushed them out and handed them off to some guards. Robb had mostly ignored the two oddities as they left, focused on Jon, who’s head was in his arms, and chest braced on his knees. It looked like his brother- _cousin?_ \- couldn’t draw in enough breath.

The situation could not have gotten worse- or so Robb had thought.

And then Father had returned, but not alone. Mother was with him, and she had demanded answers.

Suffice it to say: no one had left that room satisfied.

Jon was sullen and brooding, spending most of his time down in the crypts with Aunt Lyanna’s statue, and the girls were confused at the sudden chill between Mother and Father and curious about the guests they hadn’t seen but heard whispers about. Father hadn’t asked to see Lady Hermione but had locked himself in his solar. Mother was flurrying around Winterfell in a passive-aggressive anger.

It had been two days, though, and aside from Maester Luwin and the one maid that brought their visitors’ meals, no one had any information about Lady Hermione and Teddy. Maester Luwin said she visited the library tower early each morning and stacked up dozens of books before somehow sliding them into her small drawstring bag. These books were all neatly stacked on a table in the library by nightfall. The guards, however, promised Robb that they had not seen her leave her room. How she was getting to and from the library remained a mystery that Robb had a bad feeling could only be answered by _magic._

The maid, Senna, had plenty to say about their guests, but her words just left Robb with more questions. Lady Hermione had invited Senna into her and Teddy’s room and very kindly offered her a seat and some of their meal before hitting Senna with a barrage of questions: _how are you treated here? what are the wages like? do you have a form of plumbing?_

What this ‘ _plumbing’_ was, Robb could only imagine.

But now he was determined to get some answers.

He’d been standing outside of her door for a few minutes at this point, the guards outside Lady Hermione’s room shifting nervously at the sight of him- or perhaps at the thought of the woman behind the door?

Suddenly, the door swung open and he was faced with the woman herself. He took her in, and he felt his mouth drop into an unattractive gape but couldn’t help himself. Behind him, he heard a guard choke.

“Yes?” she demanded; her arms crossed across her chest.

Her hair was loose and frizzy down to her waist, and her cheeks had blue smudges on them-probably ink- but her clothes were most shocking. Her legs were almost entirely bare, with only short trousers covering her a few hands up from her knees. Her top was low cut and shaped with thin sleeves like small clothes. She was wearing something fuzzy and long, cut like a sleeved cloak over the whole outfit, that matched her bright red and gold socks.

_By the old gods, why did she insist on wearing Lannister colors? They were in the North!_ Robb thought to himself, shaking his head for a second to clear himself of the haze her exposed skin had put him in.

She’d had enough of his gaping, though, because she followed up with a stern, “You’ve been standing in front of this door for ten minutes, do you need something or are you lost?”

Robb had the sudden desire to ask her who she thought she was to come into his keep and speak to him this way but was reminded of the green light that had struck down eight of their men, and instead asked, “May I come in Lady Hermione?”

She looked at him, and then past him, before stepping back and gesturing for him to come inside. He stepped inside and let the door fall closed behind him. No doubt one of the guards had run to tell his Father he was here, but if Lady Hermione had wanted to harm them, she would have done so already.

He looked around the room they were in. It was arranged how most of Winterfell’s guest rooms were, albeit larger than a traditional guest room. However, most guest rooms didn’t have a small tent pitched in front of the hearth or the floor covered with maps, books and sheets of parchment.

Robb noticed that Little Teddy was nowhere to be found, and he doubted Lady Hermione would have let the boy out of her sight. “Where is your godson?” Robb asked as he sat in one of the lounge chairs, only stuttering over the unfamiliar word for a moment.

Lady Hermione sat across from him and responded by waving her hand towards the tent. She leaned back in her chaise, her eyes boring into him. Her gaze made him feel unsettled low in his stomach.

“Ah, Lady Hermione, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?” Robb asked.

She smiled and corrected him, “Please, just call me Hermione.”

Robb continued, taking her response as implicit permission. “Has the library helped you much, Lad-,” she raised her eyebrow, and he grimaced, quickly correcting himself, “Hermione?”

She bit her lip.

Robb was suddenly glad that Teddy was in the tent- even if he didn’t understand why the boy wanted to be in such a small space.

“A bit, yes. The magic here is-“ she trailed off and raised her palms and held them side by side.   
“It’s unbalanced, but the extra weight on this side,” she moved one palm down, “it’s not that there’s too much magic. It’s more like there’s oil covering it, making it heavier.”

Robb didn’t really understand the nuances of what she said but was interested anyway.

“What does that mean for you and Teddy?” he asked.

She plopped her hands down in her lap, before shaking her head in frustration. “I don’t know. We’re going to have to leave and find somewhere more balanced.” She stood from her seat and waved for him to follow her over to one of the maps she had of the known word splayed across the floor.

He knelt on the floor next to her, following her lead as she sat crisscrossed on the ground. She placed her index finger on the direwolf symbol that marked Winterfell on the map and dragged it to White Harbor. “We’re going to go to White Harbor and make our way to Bravos.” He followed her finger with his eyes, noting the colored polish that made her nails sparkle dark red. “The books your Maester let me borrow made it seem like there is more magic in Essos than Westeros.”

Robb nodded. Most stories of magic started in the Lands beyond the Wall or in Essos. “And after that?”

Hermione tilted her head to the right and bit her lip again- _probably a nervous habit_ , Robb noted to himself.

“Pentos. I think given that we-“ she paused and said the next word bitterly, “ _landed_ in Westeros, I’d like to stay closer to the Narrow Sea. At least at first.”

Robb’s head had shot up at her mention of Pentos. He’d heard Father mention Pentos to Jon in his solar two days ago. Father had received a coded message from Jon Arryn three moons previous, telling him that the remaining Targaryen’s were hiding out in the city.

Before he realized that words were leaving his mouth, Robb turned to Hermione and leaned towards her demanding, “Take us with you.”

She looked confused, but recovered quickly, before laughing in his face. She continued to laugh until his unchanged expression made her laughter stutter out. “Uh, no,” she said with a dubious shake of her head and furrowed eyebrows.

“Just me and Jon!” he insisted, leaning forward to capture her wrists in his hands. Later, he would reflect that the move was brave. She could’ve broken his wrists and left.

Instead, she raised an eyebrow and shook her wrists a little until he loosened his grip, but didn’t fully release her.

“Robb, no offense,” she started in a tone that suggested that she was about to offend him. “Have you ever left Winterfell on your own before?”

He hadn’t.

“No, but-“

She cut him off, “This isn’t a field trip.” Robb mouthed the words _field trip_ to himself, and she caught the movement and shook her head in frustration. “Robb, this isn’t an adventure. I need to get Teddy and I home.”

“I know that!” he exclaimed.

Hermione looked unconvinced. “I can’t slow down for you. I don’t even know you or Jon.”

Robb released her wrists and moved to grab her hands instead.

All his life, Jon had supported him quietly. Jon had taken the blame any time they had found themselves in trouble, had whispered the answers to him when Maester Luwin tested them, had pretended to lose when they were sword-fighting and Father was watching.

Jon had loved Sansa, even as his sister began to follow their Mother’s example and shunned Jon. He had taught Arya to use a sword in the Godswood even though it left him tired in the mornings. He sang to Rickon and always made time to play with Bran and tell him stories.

Jon had never asked for anything in return for all the love he gave. This was Robb’s chance to give his brother something he’d never asked for but always wanted- a family.

Robb knew there would be consequences for his actions. He was the Heir to Winterfell. His Mother would be heartbroken. His Father would be furious. Robb had responsibilities. But this was for _Jon._

“Lady Hermione,” Robb said, as seriously as he could, trying to imbue his voice with the bone-deep desire- _obligation_ \- he had to give his brother something _good._ “Hermione, please. Jon’s only remaining family in Pentos. Father won’t let us find them. If you can get to Pentos, please take us.”

Hermione considered him, but he knew she was trying to find a kind way to deny him.

“Have you ever loved someone like they were an extension of yourself?” Robb asked desperately. She nodded slowly.

Robb wondered who she was thinking of.

“Jon is the best part of me. The world has given him nothing, and this chance to find his family is the only brightness I can promise him. I do not know you and there is very little I can give someone with your powers, but I would give you my life if you could give Jon this piece of happiness.” He had thought he wasn’t someone that would ever stoop to begging, but he realized he wasn’t above it.

Hermione continued to stare back at him. Her eyes softened. He wanted to say more, beg more, but something stopped him.

She opened her mouth and Robb braced himself for an inevitable rejection. Instead, she called out, in a voice only slightly louder than they’d been speaking, “Teddy, come out here for a mo’.”

A few seconds passed, and then Teddy stuck his head out the slit of the tent. Robb had to stop himself from reacting in shock for a second time at his guests’ appearance. Teddy’s hair was bright pink.

“Aunty Mi?” Teddy asked, twitching his nose at the sight of Robb and Hermione holding hands.

She shook Robb’s hands out of hers and then reached a hand out for Teddy to grab. The little boy skipped over to her happily. He shot Robb a smug look.

Hermione leaned towards Teddy’s head as if she was going to whisper in his ear, but seemed to change her mind at the last minute. “Teddy, tell me out loud if he is lying, okay?”

Teddy nodded very thoughtfully as he settled into his godmother’s arms and Hermione turned her attention back to Robb.

“If we take you with us, you will protect Teddy with your life,” she stated, enunciating very clearly.

Robb nodded his head. That was easy enough. Robb didn’t need to make a promise to protect a child.

Teddy spoke up, very matter of fact, “You have to say it.” Robb didn’t know what he had done to the little boy, but Teddy didn’t seem to think much of him.

“I will protect you and Teddy with my life,” Robb stated.

Teddy looked at him, his gaze as piercing as Hermione’s, and then nodded an affirmative.

Hermione continued, “If we take you with us, you will not betray us under any circumstances.”

Robb repeated her statement and felt a cold breeze run down his spine.

Was she using magic?

Teddy nodded an affirmative again, looking to Hermione as Robb was, for an answer.

She considered Robb for a few more moments before nodding her head, looking as if she was angry with herself for agreeing.

“We leave when the moon is at its highest point tonight. Don’t be late,” she emphasized the word ‘don’t’ as if she was used to having to say it.

Robb nodded eagerly as she continued, “Pack well and a lot. I can shrink your stuff, but I don’t know how long it will take us to get to Pentos.” She sent him a sharp look. “We’re still going to Bravos first,” she said, and he didn’t argue with her. If they could find Jon’s family that would be a minor sacrifice.

“Okay,” she paused and then repeated, “Okay,” but this time it was quieter like she was whispering the word to herself and Teddy.

“Thank you, Lady Hermione. I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She looked uncomfortable at his statement, so he backed away and leapt to his feet.

“Thank you, my Lady,” he repeated, and she looked at him with a grimace, and even though he was grateful to her, the look on her face was so reminiscent of Arya that he couldn’t resist needling her. “Thank you,” he repeated over and over as he practically danced to the door of the room and opened it. “Thank you!” he sing-songed as he left the room.

He didn’t see Hermione shut the door behind him with a wave of wandless magic or hear Teddy giggle as Hermione smacked her palm against her forehead in disgruntlement.

He had so much to do before nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i promised they'd be leaving this chapter, but I had to draw it out im sorry!! next chapter though, I promise we're going to see lots of sullen, cranky Jon who gets along v well with sweet, happy Teddy and thinks smart, bamf hermione is a goddess.   
> we're gonna also get to white harbor and get on a boat- with an added sneak peak of dany!  
> please continue to comment if you have anything you wnat to see! I want to do so so so much worldbuilding in this one so its going to be a long haul!


	4. IV

With complete confidence, Jon could say that there had not been a woman in his bed since Arya turned six and was deemed too old to be sneaking into his room at night.

So, as he skulked towards his room, ducking behind a pillar to avoid Theon, he was not expecting that record to be broken- and especially not by Lady Hermione. The only thing that stopped him from stopping in the doorway and gaping at her, as she lounged in his bed, wearing a fluffy red robe, and short trousers that Lady Catelyn would hiss scathingly at, was the sight of Robb digging through his dresser.

Jon shut the door behind him and stepped into the room. The thump of the door got the attention of the three interlopers.

“Jon!” Robb beamed at him from where he was digging through Jon’s smallclothes.

He rushed over to his dresser and shoved Robb away, his face bright red as he snuck a glance at Hermione. She wasn’t paying them any attention, too busy throwing a small stuffed stag back and forth with Teddy.

Jon hissed, “What in the Gods are you doing with,” here Jon paused and looked at Hermione again, “Her in my room?”

“You didn’t even tell him?” Hermione demanded, pushing herself off the bed but not stopping her game with Teddy. Jon wasn’t sure how she was throwing the toy to Teddy so accurately without looking back at him but suspected the answer was _magic._

Robb shrugged, not answering her question.

Hermione placed her hands on her hips and glowered up at him.

Robb slumped his shoulders and turned to Jon.

“Jon,” Robb paused, and then put his hands on his shoulders, pulling his brother-cousin closer, probably to increase the dramatic tension in the room. “We’re going on an adventure.”

Hermione made a noise between a growl and a sob. Teddy laughed delightedly.

Jon looked at Robb carefully and tried to ascertain if the stress of the past few days and their revelations had broken his brother’s mind.

Robb ignored everyone- as he was wont to do- and continued, “We’re going to Essos to find the rest of the Targaryens!”

At this, Jon’s face shuttered, going from concerned to blank in an impressively short time. He shrugged Robb’s hands off his shoulders.

“Father,” Jon stopped and shook his head in painfully sharp turns. He started again, “Uncle ordered us to not speak of such things.”

“Well, he has lost the right to make decisions about any Targaryens,” Robb replied while he casually picked his way back to Jon’s dresser and continued to throw things into a large bag at his feet. “Hermione, can you really fit all this,” Robb gestured with an arm to the bag he was packing and then to another fully loaded bag in front of Jon’s bed, “in that?” he pointed to a small beaded bag that was sitting on the bed, a sharp, colorful contrast to Jon’s beige sheets.

“Lord Stark won’t allow us to leave,” Jon addressed Hermione, hoping that she would be more reasonable than Robb.

Jon, however, was a young man, and as young men are oft to do, he made a mistake in understanding a woman. This was not wholly his fault- Hermione would admit- given that Westeros seemed even more old-fashioned and patriarchal than the Wizarding World at its worst. Jon made the mistake of treating Hermione as if she was any other woman in the North, one that would understand that Lord Stark’s word was law.

Unluckily for Jon, Hermione’s knee-jerk reaction these days to being told what to do was a bone-deep desire to do the opposite. “Lord Stark,” Hermione said scathingly, “Doesn’t have to _allow_ me to do anything.”

Robb laughed, “That’s the spirit!” He threw one more pair of trousers into the bag he was packing and tied the bag’s straps together. He picked it up and hefted it over to the bed, as Lady Hermione followed him.

Jon was sputtering behind them, but only Teddy seemed to care. The little boy waved at Jon. Jon felt very roughed up and run over, but he waved back.

Hermione snapped her wrist, and her wand slid into her palm. She murmured under her breath as she waved it at both bags, and they shrunk to the size of an apple. Then she threw both apple-sized bags into her beaded bag and turned back to face them.

“Is this going to be a problem?” she waved at Jon, who didn’t like being referred to as ‘ _this’_.

Jon crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Jon would never admit this out loud, but he’d been toying with the idea of leaving to find his aunt and uncle in Essos himself. He was meant to take the Black. He’d dreamt of it since he was old enough to understand the difference between a _Stark_ and a _Snow_.

He was neither now.

Still, this adventure of Robb’s wasn’t as simple as a group of green-boys sneaking off to Wintertown’s brothel.

“They’ll come after us.”

Hermione’s lips thinned as she turned to glare at Robb.

“We’re going to write them a letter,” Robb responded as if this was obvious.

“They’ll send riders after us,” Jon shot back. “And they’ll send a raven to White Harbor before we even pass Castle Cerwyn.”

Robb looked ready to dispute this but then frowned after he thought for a moment could not come up with a good answer. White Harbor was a fortnight’s ride from Winterfell, and it was unlikely they’d make it there without being stopped.

Hermione spoke up, “Well, we could probably get there a little quicker.”

Jon turned his attention to her.

Hermione bit her lip. “If either of you,” she nodded her head towards them, “have been to White Harbor before and let me,” she waved her hands around her skull in circles, “well, if you let read your minds to find the location,” she offered them a crude explanation of legilimency, “I could take us there instantly.”

Robb looked both terrified and delighted- terrified that she could read his mind and find all the things he’d thought about her short trousers and delighted that a solution to their problem had presented itself.

“Absolutely,” Robb nodded in agreement. “We were there for Lord Manderly’s granddaughter’s nameday.”

“And the direwolf pups? You’ll leave Greywind here to be raised half-wild like Nymeria?” Jon interrupted. Both men winced, remember the way Lady Catelyn’s lips had thinned when Arya’s direwolf had jumped on to the high table and eaten directly from a serving platter.

Robb responded, “No, we’ll take them with us!”

“On a ship for a moon’s turn?” Jon exclaimed, trying to make Robb see sense.

Hermione, not enjoying the way her fact-finding mission was quickly becoming a family affair, chimed in, “Well, the ship we steal should within a fortnight. I have to carve some runes into the floorboards, but we’ll make good time.”

Robb had already heard her plan and didn’t look too concerned, but Jon was aghast. His voice was squeakier than it had been in years, “Steal!?”

Hermione turned her sharp eyes to him, and Jon’s ears tinged pink as she smirked at him. “We’ll leave them gold,” she assured him.

“Bugger me,” Jon cursed. Hermione reached out to smack his shoulder as Teddy perked up.

Teddy sing-songed, “That’s a bad word, Jon,” and stuck out his palm, waiting for a shiny piece of money. 

The pink blush spread to Jon’s cheeks, and Hermione reflected that he was a very pretty man. Jon patted his trousers’ pockets, hoping he had some copper but came up empty-handed and turned to look pleadingly at Robb, not wanting to disappoint the little boy.

Robb snickered at him and pulled a coin from his jerkin. Hermione ruffled Teddy’s hair as he crowed over the copper Groat Robb had handed him.

Jon snuck down on his bed and shoved his head in his hands.

Robb clapped his hands together, “So, we’re all set then?”

Hermione hummed as she thought it over. Robb had stolen plenty a fortnight’s worth of food from the kitchens, and Hermione had cast preservation and freezing spells over their spoils. She’d also been assured by Robb that he was able to fish. She didn’t quite believe him but was willing to watch him make a spectacle of himself, regardless.

“Yes,” she replied, and then hoping to make Jon squeak once more, she continued, “If not, we can steal what we need.”

Jon groaned again.

“So, which one of you is going to let me poke around in your mind?” Hermione asked.

Hermione gave them a few moments to consider her question, but as neither man was quick to volunteer, she decided for them. She told herself that the only reason she picked Jon was because he was already sitting down.

“Robb, go get your wolves,” she ordered. Robb offered her a sloppy salute and rushed away.

She turned to Jon, and he looked up from where he was smacking his head into his palms as she reached her hands towards his head in askance.

Jon gaped at her, his head just level with her neck, and nodded. She stepped closer to him and raised her hands to lightly brush her fingers across his temple.

She smelled like the tonka beans from Dorne they’d planted in Winterfell’s greenhouse and the lavender Sansa liked to press into her pillowcases.

“I’m going to be gentle,” Hermione promised, knowing all too well how brutally someone could use legilimency. “Clear your mind and think about the dockyards of White Harbor. Focus on the memory, and I’ll try to get to it without seeing anything else, alright?” she asked.

Jon nodded again, and a few of his curls came loose and brushed over where her knuckles were skimming his forehead. He watched her, enthralled, as she tucked a lock behind his ear and closed her eyes.

The moment she entered his mind, his eyes shuttered close, and his teeth clacked together. He felt her presence as a tangible summer breeze, sifting slowly through what he imagined was his consciousness. He tried to reach a hand out to catch the breeze and startled himself when his fingertips brushed against something warm.

Hermione walked through Jon’s mind slowly, trying not to disturb any of the pieces. His mind was a vast snowy landscape, each piece of him a trail of footprints, matching up to his memories. She trekked through the scene unfaltering, until she is forced to pull her knees higher on each step. She’d never seen so much snow before, and for a moment wondered if she would get lost.

Jon felt the warm breeze flagging and forced himself to follow it. Together they walked in a path of barely worn footsteps that sloped to the high-rising hills of the Wolf’s Den. In the distance, round, white stone buildings appeared, with the hint of a blue see peaking around them. There is a fleet of large ships resting against a pretty green and blue seaport and Hermione can pick out Jon’s memory, a sharp contrast against the rest of the snow.

The memory firmly in hand, she picked her way through the fluffy snow to leave but is stuck as she catches the whisper of a dark-haired women, her hair pulled back in a windswept braid and her light blue summer dress, torn and bloody, that is physically shoving blizzards hissing the words, ‘ _bastard’_ and ‘ _dishonor_ ’, away.

She turned her head away from the specter, her eyes stinging suspiciously, and focused on the path of snow that was hardening to stone. She lingers, liking the way Jon’s cool presence brushes against her, but when she hears a distant thump as the bedroom door opens and closes, she quickly retreats.

Jon and Hermione wince in unison.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hermione exclaimed, blushing and pulling her hands away from where they’d moved to clutch at his hair.

“Puppies!” Teddy squealed, and the pair break apart as Robb set a squirming Greywind and a sleepy Ghost on the floor.

“We’re ready to go,” Hermione informs Robb.

Robb nodded eagerly and grabbed Hermione’s drawstring bag to hold it for her.

“Okay, hold on tight,” she ordered. She doesn’t warn them about how apparition feels, but a woman’s got to have her simple delights.

She knelt and let Teddy wrap himself around her shoulders. When she stands back up, Robb let her grab onto his forearm and prepares himself. Jon awkwardly did the same on her other side.

“Hold on!” she reminds them again and then turns on her right foot quickly before they can respond.

In a flash of light, their group of four leaves Winterfell and finds themselves on a dark seaport, staring at dozens of ships. Robb quickly falls to his knees and retches as Jon stumbles, almost falling into the water.

Hermione ignores them, perusing the available ships, and then points to a medium sized vessel named the _Vystolie._ She points at it and asks, “This one looks good, right?”

Both men glared at her from the ground where they’re recovering, refusing- or perhaps unable- to answer.

However, within the hour, they’ve boarded the _Vystalie,_ leaving no trace except a small bag of Gringott’s gold left behind for the man down one ship.

XXX

Across the sea, a young girl sits in a too-hot bathtub, her blonde hair loose and sticking to her sweat-slick skin.

Her brother watches her, his eyes gleaming half-mad, half-lustful, as a maid pours sweet-scented oils into her hair. He is flipping a knife through the air in sweeping arches. Within the next moon’s turn, he plans on trading his sister away for an army, and soon he would be king.

Daenerys knows of her brother’s plans. For a brief shining moment, she thinks about reaching across the space between them, snatching the knife from his hands and using it. She wonders what it would feel like to be free.

She doesn’t outwardly show her distress- she’d learned long ago that her fear fed her brother’s madness, but in the comfort of her own mind, she shakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! I actually had this done a while ago but there was like a piece of it that didn't fit right with the later chapters (shoutout to Lyanna if you caught her)!
> 
> Please let me know how you felt about this one, especially as it was the first real Jon/Hermione interaction. I absolutely ADORE comments!
> 
> Next chapter is Bravos and also everyone in Winterfell's reaction to our friends leaving. The king is on his way to winterfell after all and I bet Cersei is very interested in this random girl thats come and kidnapped Winterfell's heir. I really want to have sansa and arya play big roles in this story so let please me know if you think they should run away as well or they should head to kings landing to meet up with the rest of the team later!!!
> 
> Anyways enjoy, stay healthy and as always so much love for my readers!


	5. V

When she’d seen nine name-days, Sansa had thrown an unholy fit- one Winterfell still whispered about in fear- until she’d been allotted separate rooms from her sister. Arya was all too happy to oblige her sister’s _request_.

But tonight, Arya found herself slipping into her sister’s bed and burrowing under the fur blankets, hoping Sansa was asleep and wouldn't force her out.

Her hopes were dashed when Sansa turned over and stared at her. Both were pale-faced with dark bruises under their eyes, and they could do nothing but breathe quietly.

Until Arya- ever brave and always bold- stretched her hand out and tangled her fingers with Sansa’s and whispered, “I’m scared.”

Sansa snorted and replied, droll in a way a lady shouldn’t be, “Rather reasonable, sister.”

The sound is so unlike her sister that Arya startles for a moment and then breaks out into unrestrained snickers. The tight lines around Sansa's eyes smooth out, and Arya notices for the first time just how _old_ Sansa looks.

They'd never gotten along, they'd been too different in truth, and Sansa would never be Arya's favorite sibling- Jon took up that place of honor.

It was easy, then, to forget how much of herself Sansa had given up so that Arya could be who she was. Until, of course, she noticed Sansa's pink stained fingers from a long night of expertly stitching a beginner level handkerchief that Arya could pass off as her own or the way Sansa's lips tightened before she smiled and offered to stay home with their Mother to finish balancing the keep's ledger, freeing the rest of their siblings to spend the sunshine riding.

“I’m scared too,” Sansa offers, tightly squeezing their palms together.

And Arya burst like an overflowed dam, "Father! He lied to us. To Jon! He was going to let Jon go to the wall without telling him! And now the King is coming!" She didn't understand how their lives could crumble around them so quickly, and she was so confused, bitter, and _angry,_

She panted heavily, the fight flooding out of her as quickly as it came, and asked, “How could he lie? I thought he was honorable? What do we do now?”

Sansa was silent. There were no words to ease Arya's hurt. Father had lied for almost twenty years, and now her older brothers were gone ( _although a harsh voice in Sansa’s mind liked to hiss and remind her that for many years now she’d followed her Mother’s footsteps regarding her cousin-brother)._

“We will do what we are told,” Sansa finally responded. “What else can we do?” she asked rhetorically.

Arya, of course, took the question literally. With a decidedly wolfish smile- almost just a baring of too sharp-teeth that glinted in the moonlight- she started, “Well…”

XXX

The clacking of wood on wood was jarringly loud, but when Jon finally landed a hit on the Robb’s exposed left ribs, Teddy’s excited crowing was louder. Robb pouted- Teddy never cheered that much when Robb was winning.

The rest of them ignored him.

Instead, Jon walked to where Teddy was jumping up and down in place and high-fived the little boy, who began chattering questions at him. Hermione wouldn’t let Teddy use the wooden swords- _and absolutely not Robb, don’t even dream of using live steel around Teddy!-_ but he loved to watch Jon and Robb practice on the deck each evening.

Tired of being ignored, Robb clapped his hands together to get Hermione’s attention and then asked excitedly, “Are we still drinking the _firewhiskers_ tonight?”

Hermione giggled, smacking her hand over her mouth to stop the laughter from bubbling over too much. “Fire- _whiskey_ ,” she corrected.

“Aye, that,” Robb batted the new word away.

Hermione, still giggling, confirmed, “Are you sure? It’s strong, Robb, and we dock in Braavos tomorrow.”

Robb puffed his chest out, “We’re no greenboys,” he said contemptuously. “We can handle our liquor.

Four hours later, Teddy was asleep, safely ensconced in his room in the tent Hermione had set up in the Captain’s cabin, the ship was free-sailing, well-guided by the hundreds of lines of intricate runes Hermione had carved into the deck and figurehead, and the three ‘adults’ were sitting on the tent’s living room floor, truly and utterly _plastered._

“And then he ran out of there, still holding his trousers up by the waist, barefoot,” Robb laughed, recounting Jon’s first visit to Wintertown’s only brothel.

Jon stammered, trying to defend himself to Hermione, who was sitting on the floor, leaning on the sofa across from him. His ears were bright pink, and when Hermione laughed at him, something sweet and warm wrapped around his cheeks as well.

"It wasn't like that," Jon defended. "He," Jon pointed at Robb, passionately offended and feeling wildly attacked, "Didn't tell me where we were going! I was surprised, is all."

Robb and Hermione didn’t stop laughing- big belly laughs that made even Jon smile through his embarrassment.

"Aye, it’s your turn then, Hermione," Jon said, trying to deflect their attention. He pulled the three shot glasses closers, filled them with firewhiskey, and passed them back to their respective owners.

As it often proved true- the lure of alcohol was greater than the desire to mock, so when Jon lifted his shot glass up, the others followed his lead in a sloppy _cheers._

Robb downed his shot and turned to face Hermione. “Hermione,” he started, very seriously, “truth-” another pause to increase the tension “-or truth?” he finished with a flourish.

They were playing truth or truth, given that playing dares on a ship was an easy way to fall overboard- despite Hermione’s runic casting.

Hermione laughed, throwing her head back, and Jon dazedly admired the way the baby curls that escaped her braid fluttered by her movements. “I think I choose truth,” she finally replied.

Robb had been saving this question out of curiosity for when they were on the cusp of drunk and too drunk. “Tell us about Harry?”

Hermione shuts her eyes and hums for a moment before smiling. “Harry and I met on our first day of Hogwarts- our school- almost ten years ago." 

“We weren’t friends right away. He thought I was a bit of a swot,” she laughed. “And I was,” she admitted with a small shrug.

“But a few months into school, he fought a troll for me.” Both boys blinked, long and slow, before screeching, “Troll?” at the same time, but Hermione just giggled at them. “And from then, Harry was it for me- the great love of my life.”

Jon's stomach turned a little, and one thousand thoughts flitted through his mind before Robb asked the question Jon had been thinking.

“Love as in _love?_ ” Robb asked, an odd emphasis on the word _love_ as he sent Jon a pitying look.

Hermione laughed, "No, no, never like that, but," she flipped her hands over, and they watched as little sparks of magic flitted over her palm lines.

“Teddy's parents," she swallowed, "Remus and Tonks, they died in the war. Andi, his grandmother, was still alive, so she took him in, but then a few months," she hummed and corrected herself, "a few moons ago, she passed away as well."

The boys nodded along with her, but they were frowning intently as they listened.

"Everyone was so confused when we said we'd raise him. Harry had been dating- ah, courting, a friend of ours, and she wasn't ready for kids or that responsibility- which was fine!" she rushed to assure them. "But for us, there was no question. Teddy was ours and we were each other's." She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the fire.

“For so long, it was just me and Harry. We weren’t raised with magic, and sometimes it was so hard to see it and _believe._ ”

_(Hermione thinks of Harry, eleven and too thin, smiling up at her on the train; Harry laughing as he rode his broom too high and made her screech in fear; Harry crying after Sirius died; Harry holding her hand, clutching at her painfully tight, at his parents’ grave; Harry saying goodbye to her three weeks ago)_

“But I’ve always believed in Harry,” Hermione finished.

Jon felt an unwelcome yet itching relief at Hermione clarifying her relationship with Harry. They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the fire warm them. After some time passed, Robb staggered to his feet, said his goodnights, and stumbled into the room he and Jon shared.

Finally, Jon broke the silence. “A moon ago, I would have said Robb was my Harry,” he admitted.

Hermione didn't reply immediately but instead stood from where she was sitting and joined him on the sofa closest to the crackling fire. Their thighs were just touching, but when Jon shifted the knit blanket he'd been using to cover her as well, they both fit under it snuggly.

“And now?” she asked in a whisper.

Jon sighed and tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I was the bastard of Winterfell, my lady." He shushed her before she could protest his words. He'd learned that Hermione did not like the Westerosi treatment of bastards- _“children born out of wedlock would be a more appropriate term if you must use one at all, Robb," she'd hissed._

“And Robb was the Heir. I may have been Robb’s, wholly and truly, as you are Harry’s, but he could never be mine. He sat at the high table at feasts; Jon Snow didn't. He slept in the family quarters, but Jon Snow never did.” Jon continued, finally reaching the heart of his discomfort, “And now, I’m not even Jon Snow.”

Hermione sighed and placed her hand over where it was lying on his thigh. In a soft voice, Hermione answered, “We’re so _young_ , Jon."

"Not knowing who you are at twenty isn't a shame; it's a blessing. You have time to figure it out. Maybe you'll want to settle down in Braavos and buy a ship," she joked, referring to their upcoming destination. "Or, perhaps you'll decide to be King," she said more seriously, referring to the not-so-subtle comments Robb continued to throw Jon's way about his so-called birthright.

Jon sighed, not wholly believing her words but hearing them regardless. He tightened his grip on her fingers and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

After several more minutes of silence, just when Jon thinks she’d fallen asleep, Hermione turned her head to smile at him warmly. “You’re a lot like Harry, you know?”

Jon turned to gape at her, knowing that there was no higher compliment than Hermione comparing someone to the brother she so loved.

“No, really!” she exclaimed. “He would never seek loyalty, but people always _wanted_ to give it to him. I’ve known you for less than a moon, Jon, and I know you’d deserve my loyalty,” Hermione finished, voice still soft.

Jon felt encouraged by her words, and not knowing how to respond, lifted her knuckles to his mouth and kissed them softly, before setting them down again, but not letting go.

They fell asleep holding hands side-by-side, lulled into soft dreams by the warmth of the fireplace and their drunken confessions.

XXX

Braavos was brilliant, Hermione decided, as she looked around at the tall and square white-stone buildings with orange topped roofs arranged in neat rows reminiscent of Amsterdam’s artists’ rows; people of different ethnicities even with skin that actually looked like Hermione’s own butterscotch tan- something she’d not seen in Winterfell; the bright blue sea-shine under the lagoon connecting bridges that all swept together to meet at the Titan that Teddy had begged to climb.

They’d been in Braavos a handful of days, exploring the city-state, strolling through the bright red, orange, and blues of the bazaar streets, and visiting some of the smaller temples, hoping to find some remnants of magic- more like the kind of Hermione's world. So far, they'd only learned that the Isle of Gods- specifically the House of Black and White- might have more answers.

So, their mismatched quartet found themselves staring up at the single visible entrance to the temple- a white and black door that Jon had whispered was made of half weirwood- as Robb fluttered around them like an anxious mother hen.

“Are you certain we should go inside?” Robb asked for the seventh time, despite Hermione explaining that the leylines she'd drawn using magnets, and a detailed map of Braavos crossed here and underneath the Titan. Visiting the House of Black and White was perhaps a safer option than deep-sea diving that close to the Arsenal of Braavos.

“Yes,” Hermione replied shortly. She’d passed Teddy off to Jon and made sure the many, many portkeys, runes, and safety charms she'd cast on the little boy were all active, so she'd no choice but to forge on forward, even with the slick nervous sweat that dripped down her spine.

She raised her right hand to knock, but before she could, the door swung open and tall, a dark-haired man wearing over-washed blue clothes and a thin sword at his waist, bowed to her. "My lady," he said, waving their party inside the grand sanctuary with a large pool in the center.

Hermione smiled in response, eying the man warily, even as she heard Robb shift his arm closer to his scabbard.

"We've been waiting for you a long while," the man smiles blithely, ignoring their discomfort. Hermione waits for the tell-tale sign of Teddy sensing a lie- a brief click on his bracelet that Hermione would feel echoed on her own- but it never came.

She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Oh? How long, exactly?”

The man chuckled, “Our guild has known of you for 800 years, my lady, but the Many-Faced God has sent prophecies of your family for much longer.”

Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste, especially when she realized the man wasn’t lying. “Prophecies are for fools and flakes,” she started, but the man cut her off before she could continue.

"And you are neither fool nor flake, Lady Hermione," he admitted and flicked his wrist, causing a bell-like trilling to ring through the atrium. Two lines of dark hooded apostles flooded from the atriums back doors and formed a half-dome behind the man. Robb tensed and edged forward to shield Teddy, and Hermione let her left arm come up to brace her casting if needed.

"Please, my lady, I am Dearil, and no harm will come to you and your family. We only wish to share our gifts with you. Ask your son if I lie.” Hermione staggered a step back in shock- half at Teddy being called her son, half at the man knowing Teddy’s talent. Hermione let Robb step in front of her and briefly risked looking at Teddy for confirmation. When the little boy reached out and tugged her hair as he nodded, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“I want to know why we’re here. And how to get home.”

Dearil nodded, as if expecting her demands, “Then leave your companions here- they'll be afforded every luxury of royalty, of course- and come with me to the Hall of Faces.”

Robb hissed, “Fuck, no.”

Jon vehemently agreed.

Hermione didn’t want to leave Teddy behind, but she needed answers. She ignored the men- something she had to do often whether on this earth or her own- and kissed Teddy on the forehead. 

“Remember to call for your Marauder if you get tired alright, Ted?” she reminded Teddy of the Portkeys she’d given him and the other men that were activated by the phrase, “Moony.”

"Be good, boys!" she said, ignoring their vocal protests as the disciples crowded around them, offering sweets and wine.

Hermione turned and followed Dearil out of the chamber, just as she heard Teddy squeal about the ‘ _yummy fruit_ ’ her companions were being offered.

“You have much death on your hands,” Dearil said, casually, as if making small talk.

Hermione balked and then stiffened, “As if I can’t feel the sting of the lives you’ve taken in these halls.”

Dearil shrugged in agreement as they began to descend a dark stone staircase. They reached the lowermost level in uncomfortable silence until they reached a chamber door that Dearil heaved open and waved her through.

It took Hermione’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmed light. Still, when her eyes are clear, she almost vomits from seeing the many pillars that house torn faces- sad amalgamations of these people's lives turned into a single rag and hung like a runner-up trophy.

"What the fuck is this?" Hermione shrieked her wand already in hand and a non-verbal shield cast in a shimmering baby-pink light.

Dearil looked genuinely confused at her outrage. “I told you we were going to the Hall of Faces.”

“I thought you meant portraits!”

He furrowed his brow. "My lady, our magic is in these faces. Just as yours comes from the blood sacrifices of your ancestors, no?" He asked, shaming her for her reaction. "We only take faces from the dead."

Hermione pressed a hand flat against her sternum as she tried to settle her stomach. “I want answers,” she demanded, tired of whatever game Dearil was playing.

Dearil smiled and waved her towards the low sitting pool at the center of the Hall. “You will have three, and so will I.”

She’s shocked that he’s invoking the _tripartite_ but notes that there is enough magic in this Hall that the magic behind the ancient three truths would hold.

“Fine,” she agreed, sitting on the ledge of the pool, many feet away from Dearil, her wand still clutched in her hand.

He chuckled and sat far away from her, respecting her unspoken yet loud wishes. "Let us swear."

He sliced his palm open using his pinky finger's nail and squeezed three drops of blood into the pool. Hermione followed suit, using her wand to slice across the base of her thumb. They watched as the pool turned dark red first and then pink before Dearil pulled two crystal glasses from his overcoat. He filled them and then floated one to Hermione. Once she picked her glass up, he raised his in a silent challenge, and they both chugged their glasses as one.

Hermione shuddered as the blood magic worked its way from her stomach to the tips of her toes and the length of her hair. The _tripartite_ was old magic, and such magic was best done through blood sacrifice and intent.

Hermione didn’t have time to consider the strength of their sacrifice before Dearil asked his first question.

"Is it true your magic can produce everlasting flames?"

"Yes." She hummed, hoping that was enough of an answer, but the _tripartite_ forced her to elaborate. “I’ve cast and controlled Fiendfyre before. Its fire is ever-growing and everlasting, but catastrophic if one cannot control it.”

Dearil looked delighted. Hermione didn't appreciate his happiness.

“Why did we come here from Earth? Why did Harry send us here?”

“Ah, two questions at once? I’ll allow it, my dear.” He laughed at the face she made when he called her _‘my dear.’_

“Your brother was afraid. Of what, we’re unsure, but he hoped to send his family to the safest nexus of magic.”

Hermione's heartbeat too loud in her ears. "And?" she urged Dearil to continue.

"And you came here because you were needed here, so Winterfell’s nexus was safe and called to you. There is a war coming, my dear-"

Hermione scoffed and cut him off, “There is always a war coming, that means nothing to me.”

He tilted his head to consider her, “Even if every innocent on this planet were to die- it would mean nothing to you?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, already knowing the answer and not willing to waste a question on it. “Regardless, there is a war coming, and your family is needed.”

She was so very tired of war.

Dearil took her silence as permission to continue, “Who was that pretty man holding your son?”

Hermione bit her tongue, trying to suppress the answer, but Dearil clucked his tongue in reprimand. “Jon Snow,” she spat. “Jon Targaryen.”

“Ah, I was so sure!” Dearil enthused. “Has he decided to claim the throne?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione responded truthfully- and gratefully given that Dearil had no more questions.

She wasn't sure her last question would work, but needs must, "What are three things that you know of that will help Teddy and me?" She tried to pitch her voice higher on the last few words to make it more of a question, but Dearil giggled- high pitched and too reminiscent of Umbridge.

“You’re a delight, my dear, so clever!” He praised, quickly stood and moved towards her. He gripped her chin and tightly dug his nails into her skin, his voice turning steely, “In Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis slinks around his manse, with many a child slave locked in bronze collars.” Hermione jerks backed, ‘slaves’ she mouthed to herself. “You will not go further East than Pentos until your pack is full, but I see that you have many new packmates waiting in Dorne.”

He released her chin, and she went sprawling backward in an undignified heap.

“Shall we get back to your boys then?” he said, voice dreamier than Luna at her best and higher than Umbridge at her worst, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!   
> okay first wanted to start off by apologizing for not responding to all my comments, I got some great ones and I WILL reply, I was trying to knock this chapter out so I keep getting distracted but I promise I love your comments, they really keep me going!!!  
> second, i hope you enjoy this chapter and as always if you dont lmk why and ill work on it!  
> third! please dont hate me but im warning yall right now, there is no chance I'm updating this again soon! This is one of my stories that I have no backlog left- except for like chapter outlines- on so I really have to get that done before I can update. I'd say starting early Feb ill give you guys biweekly updates!  
> fourth, do you guys think they should take dany to dorne or drop her off disguised in westeros or maybe even let her chill in braavos/pentos/myr wherever?  
> FInally thank you so much for reading, good vibes to you (and hopefully from you) love my readers so much thank you!!!


	6. VI

The whole of Winterfell was in the courtyard waiting for the royal family’s arrival. It was entirely silent, but Robb and Jon’s absence rang loudly amongst them.

Ned had spent the past three nights in his solar, wondering how his carefully constructed lies had fallen apart at the arrival of two travelers. He’d come up with no answers.

His children, sans his heir and nephew, were neatly lined up by his side as the King rode in on his grand horse. The carriage behind him stuttered slowly through the damp mud and middling snow.

Ned dropped to his knee and greeted Robert. “Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.”

Robert laughed, “Ned! You’ve gotten fat.”

Ned raised an eyebrow looking at Robert’s stomach. Robert continued to laugh as the two foster-brothers embraced.

“Cat! Come say hello to your King!” Robert grinned at Catelyn and embraced her despite the stiffness in her shoulders.

With a fixed, almost pleasant smile, Catelyn greeted him, “It is good to see you, your Grace. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

Robert winced and replied, “Pleasant enough. I’ll never understand your love for the North, Ned.” Robert stomped his feet, raising the loose dirt as evidence. “Cold, miserable muck, all of it.” He turned his attention to the line of Ned’s children. He counted four, and despite not being the most present friend, he’d thought there was a fifth somewhere.

“Where’s my namesake?” Robert boomed.

Ned leaned in to whisper, “Perhaps we can speak privately, Your Grace?”

Robert turned to look at his old friend, noting the tight lines around his eyes. “Aye. Take me to the crypts, Lord Stark. I’ll pay my respects.”

Queen Cersei interrupted them. “We’ve been riding for a moon, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Ned and Catelyn knelt quickly at her arrival, but Robert ignored her.

“Take me to her, Ned,” Robert demanded. Ned rose and bowed to the Queen before leading his friend away quickly. Ned took the silence as a chance to examine his old friend. Time had not treated him well. His armor strained at the buckles, and his skin was tinged yellow.

Ned lit a torch as they entered the crypts.

“Tell me about Robb,” Robert asked as they walked.

“He and Jon-“

Robert interrupted him, “Your bastard?”

Ned nodded reluctantly. “Aye. They’ve gone East.”

Robert whistled. “By the Gods. Why?”

Here Ned steeled himself to lie to his oldest friend. “To see his mother’s family.”

“She’s alive then?” he exclaimed.

Ned’s chest stretched painfully as his heartbeat too fast as they’d stop in front of Lyanna’s statue. “No, but there are still some Daynes left. And Ashara was close to the Martells.”

Robert stopped in his tracks and stared at his friend. “Ashara Dayne? I knew it!” he crowed.

“Aye, and now my boys have run off to chase ghosts.” This, at least, Ned reflected, was not a lie.

Robert didn’t know how to reply. He turned and silently placed his palm on Lyanna’s crypt. “She shouldn’t be here, Ned,” he croaked, his voice thin. “I would have buried her up on a hill. Surrounded by wildflowers.”

Ned wanted to shake Robert but refrained. “She’s a Stark,” he replied. “This is where we come to be buried.”

Robert shook his head petulantly and replied, “I should have come years ago to pay my respects.”

“You married. You had a kingdom to rule,” Ned said.

Robert chuckled bitterly. “I’d have given it all up to have her instead.”

Finally, Robert kissed his palm and pressed it to Lyanna’s crypt again. “Ned, I need you in King’s Landing. Lord Eddard Stark, my brother, I would name you Hand to the King.”

Ned felt his spine curl even as he dropped to his knees. “I am not worthy of the honor, Your Grace.”

Robert snorted. “I’m not trying to honor you. I’m trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore myself to an early grave.” Ned silently wondered how soon that would be. Robert smacked him on the shoulder and said, “Damn it, Ned, stand up. You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing.”

Ned stood and interrupted Robert. “I cannot, Robert. There are whispers from the North that the Wildlings are amassing. This is the longest Summer we’ve seen, and no preparations have been made for Winter. And my sons have left. I cannot.”

Robert reared back, obviously not expecting such a blunt refusal.

“You can worry about that in the South as well!” he tried to reason.

Ned shook his head. “The problems of the North must come first.”

Robert sighed, knowing his friend would not leave his duties behind.

Ned inwardly groaned, knowing his friend would not stop until he’d gotten what he wanted.

“Give me a year,” Ned bargained. “Let me meet with the Northern Lords and let my sons come home. Then I’ll come South and serve as Hand until you are well sick of me.”

Robert brightened immediately. “Aye! We were meant to rule it together, you know. If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood. It’s not too late, though. You have a daughter. We can join our houses at last.”

Catelyn would be thrilled, Ned thought uncharitably. “Sansa is young, Robert. And no one can accompany her.”

Robert scoffed. “I am King. There is no better chaperone in the Seven Kingdoms,” he declared. “And you’ll join her in a year’s time,” he smiled mischievously. Ned thought he could see a glimpse of the brother he had once loved so much at that moment.

“I must discuss this with Catelyn,” Ned managed to stammer.

Robert pulled him in for another hug. “Aye, take the night to discuss it with Cat, and tell me yes in the morning.”

He pulled away from Robert and tried to grin at his foster-brother.

If it looked like a pained grimace, neither man commented on it.

XXX

“Elbow up, Hermione, by the Gods,” Robb called out from where he and Teddy sitting on the deck’s floor trying to train the direwolf pups. Ghost was sitting obediently and nosing at Teddy’s outstretched fingers. Greywind, on the other hand, was gambling around the pair excitedly refusing to settle at Robb’s increasingly distressed commands. The pups, however, adored Teddy and settled at his murmurs.

( _Hermione had a theory that they could smell the wolf’s blood in Teddy, but wouldn’t dare say that aloud)_

Jon tried not to snicker at Robb’s yelp when Hermione sent a stinging hex at his right leg.

“Aye,” Jon agreed sheepishly, “A little higher there.”

Hermione groaned and threw her sword to the ground.

“I’m done with this,” she said. “How much longer til we dock, Robb?” she asked.

Robb looked at the watch- _it counts the hours of the day Robb, Hermione had explained for the fourth time before he’d fully understood-_ and replied, “Two hours.”

She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and responded, “I’ll go get ready then.”

Their plan was simple and based on the only useful- in Jon’s opinion- information they received at the House of Black and White. The beggar Prince was staying with his sister at Illyrio Mopatis’s manse, on the Bay of Pentos. There was to be a feast at his home celebrating the successful brokerage of Princess Daenerys’- who was newly 17 namedays- marriage to a Dothraki Khal.

Jon and Hermione were going as guests- the Lord and Lady Granger of the Summer Isles- looking to further trade with Pentos. Hermione had insisted on making something she called _‘flashcards’_ and had relentlessly quizzed Jon on the Summer Isles.

“Jon!” Teddy exclaimed. “What do you uh-“Teddy paused and looked to Robb for help. Robb leaned down to whisper the rest of the question to the boy. “Do you like being Lord Granger, Jon?”

The tips of Jon’s ears turned bright pink and he cursed his brother. The other boys laughed- Robb at how obvious his brother was in his affections and Teddy at the warm and giddy feeling being around his new friends gave him.

“Go make yourself pretty, Lord Granger,” Robb said to Jon with a wink.

Jon quickly ran away to hide below deck.

Two hours later, they were docked on a private area near the northmost Bay of Pentos. The boys could see Illryio’s manse from where they were peering over the starboard. Jon was fidgeting with his cuffs, the thin and brightly colored linens of his clothes making him distinctly uncomfortable.

He looked up from his fussing at the soft thump of the hatch falling back as Hermione ascended.

Teddy wolf-whistled at Hermione, and before Jon could speak, Hermione stomped up to Robb.

“Robb,” she scolded, turning to glare at him. “Did you teach Teddy to whistle like that?”

Robb yelped. “No!” He poked Teddy in the side. “Tell her!” he demanded of the little boy who shook his head side to side and refused to help Robb.

Hermione continued to glare at Robb giving Jon a few extra moments to stare. Her hair was down and loose, not quite straight nor quite curly, falling in dark tumbles down her back. Her gown was much simpler than any he’d seen Sansa wear- no embroidery, just a drape of dark purple silk, cowled at her chest and slim fitting over her hips.

“I’m just messing with you,” Hermione laughed at a distressed Robb. “I taught him that.” She high-fived Teddy and gave the little boy a nuzzled kiss on the cheek.

“Alright, Jon and I will go in and act interested in financing the Targaryen’s retaking the throne-“

Robb cut her off with an injured sniff. “I _am_ interested in that.”

Hermione coughed pointedly. “When we get them all alone, I’ll send a _patronous_ and our charmed portkeys will bring you to us.”

She looked at each boy in turn to check for questions. When none were forthcoming, she walked to Jon who immediately offered his arm. She smiled up at him, a few inches shorter than him even in her heels and then they were off, walking the short path towards Illyrio’s manse.

Dearil had assured them they were on the guest list and wouldn’t be questioned. They would pose as friends of the Iron Bank, he’d informed them, pressing a coin that sparked of wild magic into Hermione’s palm.

Hermione’s grip on Jon’s arm tightened as they approached the steps of the stoned manse walls, guarded by men with heavy metal collars around their necks.

Jon was of the North and the North had never held with slavers, but the disgust Hermione exhibited towards slavers was beyond anything he’d experienced.

He moved his hand from where he was rubbing his disillusioned sword’s hilt and patted Hermione’s hand in reassurance.

“Lord and Lady Granger,” Jon replied to the guard that asked for their names. He tried to emulate Robb’s lordly voice, but worried that he fell short of it.

The guards bowed and immediately let them pass into a beautiful stone garden, draped with red and purple bougainvillea and already teeming with men and women in expensive clothes and fine jewels. Jon felt underdressed, but secretly thought Hermione- in her simple dress that flashed a high expanse of tan bare thigh every step she took- was the most stunning woman there.

They mingled for what seemed like hours as the moon began to rise high in the sky and the guests began to filter out. Illyrio had made no attempt to speak with them and Hermione kept insisting that they let him come to them. Jon contented himself to stand by Hermione as she flitted between guests and watch steadily every time she threw her head back in laughter.

“Jon,” Hermione hissed, pulling him from his reverie. She tugged him over to where several girls in little clothing and thick gold collars with chains trailing behind them were serving wine. She plucked up two glasses and thanked the girl before downing a full glass.

“Liquid courage,” she muttered to him when he looked at her in askance. She barely tilted her head to the right, but he caught her meaning and subtly looked in that direction. A portly man wearing orange and red linens was headed their way.

“My Lord and Lady Granger, I presume? I am Illyrio Mopatis and may I welcome you to my home,” the man said grandly.

Hermione inclined her head. “Thank you, darling. Please, I am Hermione, and this is my husband Jon,” she drawled and patted Jon on the chest. He hoped she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating. “We’ve heard many things from our mutual friends.”

Illyrio puffed his chest out assuming she’d heard great things. Hermione didn’t correct him.

“As have I my dear,” he replied, obviously lying as Lord and Lady Granger had only existed for three days.

Jon interrupted their pleasantries, “We hoped to discuss our business sooner rather than later. We leave for Volantis on the morrow.”

Illyrio clapped his hands together and chuckled, “Right down to business, then, Jon.” He then straightened. “The prince and princesses have been quite business with their other guest tonight, but we can convene in the parlor to speak.” He snapped his fingers and a girl rushed towards him, her long chain dragging behind her. “Have refreshments brought to the parlor,” he ordered, smacking her bottom as she scurried away.

Jon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out.

Illyrio led them into his home and into a brightly colored room with draped curtains, low seats and hundreds of lit candles. It was beautiful, but Jon’s gaze darted around until it settled on the pair sitting on the seat closest to the lit hearth.

The girl, Daenerys, looked young. He knew she was born only months before he was, but she was thin, her cheeks hollow, and her blue silk dress draped around her body obscenely. The man was just as thin, but his hair was much greasier and less well-kempt. There was a gleam in his eyes that made Jon move closer to Hermione.

They didn’t rise as Illyrio introduced them and though Jon sketched a half-bow, Hermione didn’t curtsey. They arranged themselves around the parlor quietly as a few women brought sweets and wine before leaving quickly.

“Prince Viserys. Princess Daenerys,” Illyrio inclined his head to the silver haired pair. “Lord and Lady Granger of the Summer Isles,” he waved graciously to Hermione and Jon as he introduced them. “They’re interested in _investing in_ Westeros’s future.”

“Are they?” Viserys asked. His voice was higher pitched than Jon had expected. “What is the Summer Isle’s interest in Westeros?”

Here Jon took over so that Hermione could discretely cast spells around them.

“The usurper and his vassals are rather prudish, I must admit. They’re not interested in trading with us. They call us savages.” Jon said. Viserys however nodded seriously in agreement. “But, the Summer Isles has always had a great relationship with the Targaryens. We’d like to see that continued.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Illyrio agreed excited and greedy for increased trade.

Viserys’ eyes glinted in the candlelight. “And what would you bring to our relationship?” he asked. “My sister is marrying a Khal. What need do we have of you?”

Illyrio stammered as he tried to stop his impetuous charge from ruining a relationship with potential allies.

Hermione interrupted their conversation with a furrowed brow as she looked at Daenerys. “And how old are you, Princess?” she asked.

“My seventeenth nameday was a moon past, Lady Granger,” Daenerys said smoothly, her voice quiet and meek in a way that neither Arya nor Sansa had ever been.

“And this Khal? His age?” she asked.

Illyrio piped up, “The Dothraki do not keep record of namedays, my dear.”

“Guess,” Hermione demanded flatly.

“Forty-five or so.”

Jon couldn’t help himself as he reared back. That was older than his father!- ‘ _uncle’ he reminded himself._

“Right then,” Hermione stated and in a split second, she’d whipped out her wand and cast a visible thick yellow bubble around their group. None of the guards stationed around them noticed.

Illyrio stood quickly as did Jon, but Viserys cowered back in his seat and hissed, “Witch.”

Hermione nodded calmly, “That’s correct.” She looked at Illyrio. “Stop screeching and sit. They can’t hear you.” Illyrio looked murderous but sat. Daenerys had barely moved a muscle.

“Jon,” Hermione prompted. She tugged at his hand and he held it gaining strength from her steady presence.

“Aye,” he said. He faced Daenerys and Viserys squarely. “My name is Jon Snow, but my mother, Lyanna Stark, named me Jon Targaryen. I am your brother’s son.”

Viserys grabbed Daenerys wrist and stood, dragging the girl up with him. “Lies,” he hissed. “You’ve come for our throne, Blackfyre bastard.”

Jon looked very offended at once again being called a bastard. “My parents were married! There’s record of my parents’ marriage at the Citadel.”

Viserys tightened his grip on Daenerys arm until the girl hissed in pain. There was silence for a moment before a sharp _crack_ echoed through the room.

Hermione’s eyes turned murderous. With a wandless spell, she’d pushed Viserys back into his seat and stuck him there. He screeched in outrage, but she ignored him. She took slow steps towards Daenerys giving the girl a chance to recoil, but when she didn’t Hermione offered, “I can fix that for you.”

Daenerys eyed her, but then nodded in agreement, her eyes wet. Hermione quickly fixed her wrist. Illyrio made to speak but Hermione held her hand up to silence him. “Sit,” she hissed and motioned for Jon to continue.

“Daenerys, we know you don’t trust us.” Daenerys shrunk back as if expecting to be reprimanded. “That’s alright,” Jon reassured her. “I’ve only come to see what was left of my family.”

Hermione cut in, “But now, I think plans may have to change. I’m not leaving you here to marry a man nearly thrice your age.”

Viserys protested loudly. “My sister will do her duty!”

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione said as she shot a silencing spell at him.

Daenerys looked torn between relief and disbelief.

“But, our claim. Our birthright,” she protested weakly.

Jon spoke before Hermione could begin one of her many diatribes on the lack of logic in inherited seats. “Aye, your birthright.” Hermione let him switch places with her and Jon held Daenerys’s fixed wrist, much gentler than Viserys had. “I cannot promise you a throne, but I can promise to be your family,” he offered.

She stared at him considering his words. She had no proof that he was who he said he was, but these strangers had shown her more kindness than her brother had in years. “Okay,” she agreed, and Jon grinned wide.

Viserys shrieked and Illyrio started to protest again, but he stopped at Hermione’s sharp look.

“My brother?” she asked.

Jon clenched his jaw.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Daenerys offered. “He used to run around Braavos and pick through the trash to find me pretty things. He was good before the madness began to set in,” she trailed off.

Jon nodded sharply, still tense.

Hermione replied, “We’ll bring him along, but he’ll be restrained.”

Illyrio had finally mustered enough courage that even Hermione’s sharp looks couldn’t stop him from speaking. “You cannot simply take them and leave!” he protested. “You need me to take back the throne!”

“Oh? And what can you offer us?” Hermione asked in a mockery of Viserys earlier words.

Illyrio started spouting answers- _wealth, armies, jewels-_ but no one- barring Viserys- was interested. Until he said _dragon eggs._

“Dragon eggs?” Daenerys asked in awe thinking of the old Valyrian dragon-riders.

“Dragon eggs.” Hermione said flatly thinking of her first-year and Hagrid.

“Yes, yes, Dragon eggs,” Illyrio said. “I have three, but you must let me call for my servants to get them.”

Hermione snorted. “Servants? Slaves you mean.”

She whispered an _accio_ and _molliare_ before grabbing her beaded pouch from where it hung disillusioned at her side.

They all watched as three stone eggs flew towards her. She plucked them out of the air with ease and put them in her bag. Daenerys eyes widened as she watched Hermione fit the large eggs in her small bag.

“Anything else?” Jon asked.

Illyrio didn’t reply.

“Take them back to the boat, Jon,” Hermione suggested. Jon nodded and offered his arm to Daenerys who took hold of it tentatively. He sighed and put his hand on a still struggling Viserys shoulder before saying, “Padfoot,” and disappearing in a whirl of magic.

Hermione looked at Illyrio in contempt.

“Now, Illyrio, let’s discuss how I feel about slavers.”

XX

Prince Doran Martell rarely met with anyone without his loyal guards. But he and Oberyn were the last of his mother’s children left, and the news he had was sensitive. There were allowances to be made.

His brother arrived in his usual unaffected whirlwind of heavily smelling sweet Lyseni perfumes while unconcernedly eating an apple. He greeted Doran with a kiss on his knuckles.

Oberyn poured himself a glass of pear brandy and settled on a lounge chaise indolently.

“Areo asked me to come immediately,” Oberyn said, his voice lilting at the end in question.

Doran replied, “There is news of movement in Pentos.”

Oberyn straightened immediately, his eyes glinting. “What news?” he asked eagerly.

“The prince and princess have disappeared.”

“How? Have grumpkins come and kidnapped them?” Oberyn asked, laughing incredulously. They’d kept careful watch of the remaining Targaryens over the past years. It was near impossible that they could have slipped their gaze.

Doran fixed him with an impatient look. “Illyrio Mopatis’s home has been razed to the ground. His slaves were freed. The man himself is in Braavos, custody of the Arsenal.”

Oberyn winced. Even he would not try his hand against any of the Arsenals.

“And there’s no sign of the dragons?”

Doran sighed. “None. The night before their disappearance, Illyrio hosted a gathering. The only guests out of place were the Lord and Lady Granger.”

Oberyn tilted his head to the side in askance, “I’ve not heard of House Granger.”

“Nor have I,” Doran admitted.

“Are they Westrosi?” Oberyn asked, surprised. His brother was uncannily well educated in the banalities and intricacies of every house in Westeros.

Doran replied, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgment of Oberyn’s surprise. “No. It seems they hail from the Summer Isles.”

Oberyn leaned back in his chaise. From the relatively uninvolved Summer Isles, two unknowns appeared at the Mopatis’ manse and absconded with two dragons. This was the making of a bad song.

“Anything else?” Oberyn asked, knowing his brother wouldn’t have called him without a solution in place.

Doran hummed. “There was news of a Lady Granger at the House of Black and White. It seems they are traveling South across the coast.”

Oberyn caught on quickly. “Aye. I’ll take Obara. We can reach Myr within the fortnight.”

“No,” his brother replied. “Tyrosh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay you guys can 100% hate me i give you full permission to do so. i promised replies to my faithful commenters and a full backlog of chapters so that you guys can have regular updates starting febuary. 
> 
> Instead i humbly offer another chapter because im a greedy writer that thrives off satisfying my muse, my readers and myself (because i live/love/die for your reviews and love)
> 
> please forgive my snakiness and enjoy this chapter. i love you all, happy holiday season, stay safe and healthy! good vibes to you all xxx


	7. VII

Viserys lifted his head as the door to his prison scuffed against the floor, revealing the bastard dragon.

He sneered and greeted Jon, “Bastard.”

Jon sighed as he set down Viserys’ supper. Putting his entire arm in a bowl of fire Hermione had conjured hadn’t convinced Viserys of Jon's heritage; no amount of words would either.

"I've brought supper," Jon said, pointing to the bowl of broth and the steaming bread. "Hermione's in the city, so Dany and I prepared tonight's meal if it tastes different than usual."

Viserys stood to examine the meal. Finding it wanting, he wrinkled his nose and looked at Jon in disdain. “Where’s your whore gone?”

His mind went empty save an angry red haze quickly. Jon took two large steps forward and pinned Viserys against the nearest wall. Viserys wheezed and laughing asked, “And where’s my treacherous cunt of a sister?”

Jon pushed his forearm into Viserys' throat, hoping to cut off any further expletives. Jon was a handful of inches shorter than Viserys, but his shoulders were broader, and his body toned from swinging a sword for hours at a time- he and Robb hadn't let their training falter on the _Vystalie._

A smarter man would’ve shut his mouth; Viserys wasn't very bright.

He hacked out a rough chuckle even as Jon's sleeve pressed against his carotid uncomfortably. "Defensive of your whores, bastard, aren't you? We'll make a Targaryen of you, yet.”

Jon hissed, breathing heavily as he tried to control his reactions. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Jon pulled Viserys away from the wall for a moment just to slam him back against it roughly.

Hermione had been delivering Viserys’ meals for the sennight Dany and Viserys been on board, and Jon had thought nothing of it- she could undoubtedly protect herself. But hearing Viserys speak, he wondered how his Uncle had been treating her. The way she subtly avoided answering Teddy’s questions about their newest passenger was starting to make sense.

“I’m a dragon!” Viserys roared even as his voice cracked from the strain on his windpipe. "And you've put me in a cage." Struggling against Jon's hold, he screamed and thrashed violently. "I'm in prison because you want to be king, you bastard."

Jon let Viserys drop and stumbled back. “You think I want to be King?” he asked incredulously. “I just wanted to meet you. I wanted a family.”

“Liar,” Viserys seethed. “You want our claim. Dany's stupid enough to spread her legs for you, but I'm not as easy as my whore sister."

Jon made to respond, but Viserys started to scream incoherently again.

Jon shook his head in disappointment. "Hermione said you might be able to start leaving your room soon." They both glanced at the potion-filled bottles Viserys had been ordered to take three times a day.

"If she lets you out and you even look at Dany the wrong way," Jon began. He took another step towards Viserys and tried not to let a greedy slip of pleasure drip down his spine at how the other man cowered. "I'll push you overboard, and we'll see if dragons can swim."

“You would need my sister for some legitimacy,” Viserys acknowledged. "I understand why you want her safe."

Jon ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't want your claim!" he spat. "I don't want to be fucking king." He turned to leave. He had no words that would convince his Uncle of the truth.

"I've been the bastard of Winterfell for nearly twenty years," Jon said, speaking to the door. "I wouldn't mind being nothing more than a bastard for the rest of my life." Viserys hummed as if considering Jon’s words. Desperately Jon continued, “All I wanted was to find my family and keep them safe.”

Viserys laughed mockingly, spat on the floor, and spread his arms wide from where he'd fallen to the ground. "Well then, welcome to the family, bastard! Here there be monsters."

Jon sighed and shut the door firmly behind him.

XXX

In hindsight, Hermione should have known she was walking into an ambush.

In her defense, it was early, the was sun barely shining across the waves, and she’d just taken a wonderfully warm shower- thank Merlin for the joys of magical plumbing. She was cozy and comfortable in her long-sleeved Gryffindor jersey and leggings, and she was by no means expecting to be betrayed by her godchild.

“Auntie Mione,” Teddy greeted her officiously when she entered the dining room and found the ship’s occupants waiting for her. “Please sit down.”

She took her seat hesitantly and sent a glare in Robb’s direction. She wasn’t sure how, but she had a nagging feeling that whatever was about to happen was his fault.

“Aunt Hermione, I agree with Robb about the dragons.”

Hermione wanted to throw Robb off the ship and see if Winterfell's heated pools had really taught the man how to swim.

“Teddy, darling, no! I know Uncle Harry told you about Norberta!” she exclaimed.

“Norberta?” Robb asked in confusion in between bites of his scone. Their odd group of six was seated around the large dining table of Hermione’s tent.

Teddy didn't relent despite his godmother's pleas. He had been given a critical mission, and he wouldn't falter at the first sign of resistance.

“Magic is different here,” Teddy responded. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Robb and Viserys nodded simultaneously and then glared petulantly at each other, not wanting to agree, even on the matter of dragons. 

Hermione turned to look at Jon desperately. When he avoided her gaze and slouched in his chair, her stomach dropped. Her only ally had forsaken her.

“You must hatch them,” Viserys demanded imperiously. “It is our Targaryen birthright.” He was wearing one of Jon's tunics, even though he was about half his nephew's size. Since he looked like a petulant child demanding a treat, Hermione didn’t feel too obliged to agree with him.

“Birthright,” Hermione spluttered indignantly.

Robb, having finished his scone, was free to slam his head against the table and beg, "Don't get her started on birthrights, please."

Teddy and Jon hummed in sheepish agreement.

_(Even Jon, who seemed satisfied to sit with her by the fire and listen to her speak for hours about topics he barely understood, was a tiny bit tired of hearing about her distaste for landed titles and gentry)_

Daenerys piped up, “I would hear her thoughts.” Their group turned to her in slight disbelief.

They’d left Lys a fortnight ago to sail South towards the Summer Isles.

(They couldn't head back to Westeros given the three Targaryens on their boat, but the boys were reluctant to sail further East against Dearil’s odd information. On the map of Planetos- as Hermione affectionately named the known world- they’d charted a safe route from Pentos to Lys- where they’d stopped to buy supplies- and then Southwest through the Sunset Sea.)

In this time, Daenerys had carefully avoided everyone on the Vystalie, except for Teddy. Despite being kindly- and firmly- invited to all their group meetings, she’d not spoken up without being prompted- even when they were discussing what they would do with Viserys.

"Gods," Robb muttered, but a sharp glare from Jon cut him off.

Hermione brightened immediately, glad to change the subject.

"Why are dragons your birthright?" she asked. Then quickly, she followed up by asking, "More importantly, why is the throne your family's birthright?"

Viserys reared up. The steady regimen of potions Hermione had placed him on- and Jon had forced down his throat for a fortnight- were undoing some of the damage wrought by his incestuous ancestry and unstable, traumatic childhood, but his arrogance was indomitable.

“Our ancestors were dragonriders and kings!” he exclaimed.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Teddy mimicked her.

“So?” Teddy asked, anticipating his godmother's next question.

“So, we are to be dragonriders and kings as well," Viserys sneered at Teddy. Jon sighed and reached out to twist Viserys' ear. They'd established early on that Teddy was off-limits. Viserys yelped.

Hermione took over. “That doesn’t tell me why you deserve to be royalty,” she said reasonably. “Why would you be a good king?”

“Because it’s in our blood!” Viserys exclaimed.

Hermione met his gaze steadily, a bit disappointed but mostly resigned. People were the same no matter which world she was in, and she was tired of being reduced to her blood.

“Blood means nothing to the people under your rule. It tells me nothing of why you should be king.”

Daenerys spoke up again, “What would mean something, then?”

Hermione and Jon both tilted their heads in askance, not understanding her question, and Daenerys silently giggled at how easily the couple mimicked one another.

“Who would deserve to rule, I mean?” Daenerys clarified.

“It can hardly be the usurper; he’s run the Kingdom to the ground!” Viserys interrupted before Hermione could answer.

"Jon!" Robb added his two galleons. Viserys hissed at Robb, muttering under his breath about _‘idiot brothers’_ and ‘ _northern whores.’_

“And, what does this have to do with the dragon eggs?” Viserys asked irritable that he’d been unable to answer Hermione’s probing questions.

“It’s the same concept,” Hermione answered patiently. “Why should you have dragons, simply because your ancestors had dragons? Why should you rule, simply because your ancestors once ruled?”

The table sat in silence as their group contemplated her words.

Daenerys tucked her long hair behind her ears and straightened her spine. "Perhaps we don't deserve to have dragons," she admitted, glancing nervously at her brother. He was on the opposite side of the table from her, and Robb's solid presence beside her kept her from cowering. "But you were told a war was coming, no?”

Hermione wondered when Teddy had told Dany about Dearil.

Dany continued, “A war for millions of innocents. Wouldn't dragons help you save those lives?"

“I’m not planning to fight a war, Dany,” Hermione answered kindly.

“Aren’t you?” Dany responded, a bit sassy and more confidently than usual. Dany jerked her head to indicate the pile of books on magical warcraft that leaned against the living room’s coffee table.

"I'm not," Hermione replied firmly. "I'm trying to get Teddy and me home. I’ll help you as much as I can, but that’s not my priority.”

“You’ll just let those innocents die?” she asked incredulously.

Hermione sputtered indignantly. “I have to get us home!”

“What about those lives? Do you even care?”

"I have a son to care for!" Hermione shot back. "I can't leave him behind to fight another world's war!"

The table fell silent. A few tense moments passed as everyone glared at the table.

“They chose their riders. The dragons, I mean,” Viserys said, gently for once, stopping the quickly spiraling argument.

“It would give you legitimacy as well,” Daenerys said. “Dragons are undeniable.”

Robb chimed in, “Aye. They’d only choose worthy riders.”

“Like how Greywind and Ghost chose you?” Teddy asked.

“What?” Robb and Jon asked simultaneously.

The pups- now the size of large hunting dogs, or small ponies- lifted their heads in askance, mirroring their owners.

“Cause they’re your familiars, right?” Teddy clarified, cocking his head and letting his hair turn darker like Jon’s.

Jon furrowed his brow and leaned back in his seat. Robb looked baffled and tilted his head in Hermione’s direction.

Her eyes widened as the pieces clicked together.

“Familiars are magically bonded animals,” Hermione sighed. She slipped her wand out of her sleeve and waved it in two circles at the pups, murmuring a bonding spell under her breath. A light golden stream filtered through the air connecting Jon and Ghost. Another joined Robb and Greywind.

Hermione tsked at herself. “I can’t believe I missed that,” she murmured before patting Teddy lightly on the arm in approval. The little boy beamed.

Familiar bonds between magical creatures and wix were common on Earth. A bond between the old dragonriders of Valyria and their dragons would undoubtedly explain the confusing records she'd read.

“A familiar would only choose you if you were worthy. And if these dragons don’t have an intended bond mate, they won’t hatch no matter the magic I pour into them,” she said, slumping.

Accepting the inevitable, Hermione turned to Jon in askance. He was the man they were trying to push onto a throne and force into war. It was only fair he made the decision.

He crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow.

“Can it be done safely?” he asked, glancing at Teddy and Daenerys in turn. Hermione’s stomach flipped at the gentle mien Jon’s face took on every time he glanced at her godson.

She hummed. “We could do it on the Summer Isles. There’re four leylines that cross near the Indigo Straits. That’d be the best place.”

“But would it be safe?” he pressed.

Hermione admitted, “I’m not very magically powerful as other Wix- like Harry. I’d probably need a second Wix as a boost.”

“I could help!” Teddy offered immediately.

Hermione and Jon cut him off with a sharp “No!” just as quickly.

"It could be Robb or Jon," Hermione continued. "If you have familiars, you have some magic as well."

“Really?” Robb asked. He raised his hand and twirled his index finger in three ovals as Hermione did when she sent her plates to the kitchen sink. Nothing happened.

Teddy giggled, and Hermione looked at Robb sternly. "With training, of course! And not the same as ours," she clarified, gesturing at herself and Teddy.

Robb's eyes widened, and his eyes sparkled with one thousand questions.

"Jon?" Hermione prompted before Robb speak.

Jon groaned and dropped his head to the table. “I suppose we’re hatching dragons, then,” came his muffled decision.

The table, sans Hermione and Jon, cheered.

XXX

“Papa,” Obara trilled, turning Oberyn’s attention away from the hookah he was smoking with a vermillion-haired man to his lithe, tanned daughter as she skipped over a jagged white stone wall and sauntered towards him.

“Obara, darling,” he replied, waving the merchant he had been smoking with away. Oberyn knew his daughter could take care of herself, but Tyrosh was no place for a free woman to be walking alone. He could admit to himself- but never aloud to his daughter for the safety of his bollocks- that he’d been worried since she’d left the safety of their ship that morning.

She plopped down beside him, graceless and ever-bold, and offered him a half-eaten orange. He accepted and bit into the citrus fruit. “This city smells like pig’s shit and wet cum-stained trousers,” Obara said, twitching her nose subconsciously in dismay.

Oberyn laughed at his daughter’s description. “Aye, but how do you know what those trousers smell like, daughter mine?”

Obara blushed, the apples of her cheeks turning pink under her golden skin. Haughtily, she ignored his question and instead asked, “Would you like to hear what I’ve found out or not?”

It was her impatience- the way Obara tapped her left foot repeatedly, a telltale sign of nerve that Doran had trained out of her by seven namedays- that spurred Oberyn to stop teasing and instead motion for her to continue.

“They’re not here,” she said. Before Oberyn can interrupt, she continued. “They haven’t been here either. There’s no sign of Lady or Lord Granger anywhere between Pentos and Lys.”

“Lys?” Oberyn asked.

Obara nodded in confirmation and reached into her loose silk jerkin. She handed a thin roll to Oberyn and watched as he unfolded and read the parchment.

His brow furrowed, and he repeated, "Lys?"

Obara rolled her eyes at him. "Aye, Lys, but that's not what's important," she said, pointing to the part of the scroll outlining what Lady Granger and a woman with suspiciously Targeryn white-blonde hair had purchased at a Lyseni marketplace.

_Four bags of rice, two bags of oats, one bag of cornmeal, four bags of dried and canned meats, one-gallon vegetable oil, two bags of dried beans, one bag of dry milk, four gallons of fresh milk, one bag of sugar, four glasses of assorted jam…_

“Four gallons of fresh milk?” he asked incredulously.

Obara shook her head at her father and asked in the same incredulous tone. "That's what you find interesting?"

"It'll spoil before they can finish even one gallon," he replied. "And they didn't purchase any freshwater!"

Obara sighed at her father's antics. "They'll have some way of preserving the milk, I'd assume."

Obery n's brows raised precariously high. "How?" he mused. Doran had mentioned a traveling merchant who claimed that there were ways to preserve milk for a fortnight and keep foods unspoiled for near a year in Yi-Ti. He and his brother had mused dreamily about the changes such preservatives could bring to a desert kingdom like Dorne before setting the thought aside as a fanciful dream.

Were their mysterious strangers from Yi-Ti rather than the Summer Isles as they’d heard?

Obara grunted in annoyance, pulling Oberyn from his thoughts. “Magic,” she stated.

“Don’t make fun,” Oberyn reprimanded his daughter.

Obara had the grace to look sheepish but continued. "No, Papa, that's what they're saying. Magic." 

Oberyn reeled back and quickly crossed himself in the way of the Seven-Pointed Star. The Dornish never took to magic the way the North and Essos did. “Magic?” he hissed. “Witches and the like?”

She shrugged. “They’ve enough food for another fortnight or so,” she replied instead of answering, hoping to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. 

Oberyn nodded in agreement, pleased at his daughter’s analysis but still uncomfortable from the mention of magic.

She continued, “That is if it’s only the dragons and the Grangers aboard that ship.”

Oberyn mumbled something under his breath before pulling a map from his vest and unfurling it on the rock they were sitting upon. Obara scooted back, so there was more space for them to maneuver and helped pin the map down against the wind by slamming a dagger into a corner.

Stroking his chin, Oberyn pointed to the sallet emblem that represented Braavos. “A strangely clothed woman was seen with a child that shared her curls here.”

Obara nodded in agreement. “A merchant from Braavos says the little boy's hair changed colors in seconds.”

Oberyn grimaced. “That’s what they’re claiming is magic?” At her affirmative nod, he rolled his eyes and continued. “So there is at least one more passenger, a child.”

He looked at the map and measured a fortnight’s travel from Lys in all directions. As he moved South, he almost slapped himself for what they’d almost overlooked.

“The Summer Isles,” he said. “They’re going home.”

Obara’s brow furrowed as she reached out to measure the same distances with her index finger. A minute later, she leaned back and sighed in agreement. "Aye, the Summer Isles. Should've known."

They both sat in silence, staring down at the map, thinking of the long journey they'd be undertaking.

“Perhaps,” Obara started, looking up at her father beseechingly.

"Perhaps, we can leave on the morrow," he agreed, not needing to hear the rest of her thoughts.

“Aye, after all, our rooms are paid for the night.”

They both stood and put aside the scrolls and maps.

“Aye, it would be a waste to sleep on the ship instead of the brothel,” Obara said, soberly looking up at her father.

They looked at each other solemnly for a moment before laughing. Oberyn slung his arm around his eldest daughter's shoulder, and they began leisurely walking towards the pleasure house they'd secured rooms at.

Tomorrow they’d be off on an adventure for Doran and Dorne.

Tonight, however, they could do as they pleased.

XXX

If she had a fraction, a fragment, or even the barest drop of wolf’s blood in her, would she still have been sent off to King’s Landing as a consolation prize to the King, Sansa wondered as she embroidered a silk handkerchief for Princess Marcella and pretended to enjoy the Queen’s company in their carriage.

“Little dove,” Queen Cersei began, graciously beckoning Sansa to sit closer. Sansa swept her skirts under her thighs and tried not to grimace as the Queen grabbed her chin, Cersei’s long fingernails digging under her neck, and pulled her closer.

The carriage- and Queen Cersei- smelled heavily of red wine and something tangibly metallic, and Sansa found herself missing the cool, crisp smell of Winterfell.

“Little dove,” the Queen repeated herself. “Are you getting on well with the Prince?”

Sansa dropped her gaze and tried to force a blush to her cheeks. “Yes, your Grace. Prince Joffrey is so handsome.”

Cersei released her grip, and Sansa resisted the urge to soothe the nail bitten marks on her face.

"Yes, my son is quite handsome. He looks much like my brother," Cersei replied. Her gaze was distant now, and Sansa hoped that signaled the end of their short conversation. "He'll make a great King." Cersei turned to pull the curtain aside and stared out the window.

The Queen didn’t acknowledge Sansa again during that stretch of their journey, but her words rang false in Sansa’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! i am back and ready to WRITE!!! i have so much writing in the works lowkey surprised at myself for not being a lazy bum about it!
> 
> hope you enjoy this chapter,it's lowkey a filler bc i need to get all my characters into one place. please let me know what you think you know i live for your reviews!!
> 
> so next chapter we're gonna have a kings landing pov for sure bc obviously king bob is dying soon so youre gonna get some context; also theres gonna be our meeting at the summer isles and... and.. and... DONT KILL ME but hermione is gonna go on a date w Jon and then like oops have sex with not Jon... anyways see you soon ily pls kudo/bookmark/REVIEW and lmk if you wanna see more/less of something much love and good vibes!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to my newest story fans of my other stories pls dont hate me I will update those soon! Hope you enjoy this though, Westeros needs a shake up. 
> 
> All the ages are a little hinky, but also like when I was 14 maybe I couldve been cool with 14 year old Jon being old enough to sign away his life because obviously at 14 youre old enough to do that, but like ten years later, I absolutely cannot even pretend to write about a kid going through that kind of shit. anyways, all of westeros is four years older, and teddy was born in hermione's fifth year. 
> 
> lmk what you think please and thank you! This is a rarepair for sure so I don't have a lot of guidance and would love to know what y'all want to see!


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